Into the Sun
by Breezi
Summary: Jonathan Crane lives for his work and the fear he is able to instill in his patients. When he is offered a suicide patient, he jumps at the chance to experiment on someone who is still partially in their right mind...WARNING: There are some suicidal refer
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters from _Batman Begins_. I only own Heather and the few other names that are not and never will be seen in the movies, comics, etc...

**Author's Note: **This is my attempt at a _Batman _fic...or more appropriately, a Scarecrow fic. You'll have to bear with me when it comes to Dr. Crane's character, in the movie the only thing we really learned about him was that he was disturbed and very, very naughty (which we all loved him for). It could either take place previous to the movie or afterwards in a world where they did not find out who Scarecrow was. Decide for yourself for now, because I haven't even figured it out yet. Please review and tell me if it's any good. There's not a lot for you to go on right now, but first chapter should be up shortly...maybe even sometime today! Without further adeu!

**Into the Sun**

**Prologue:**

The lights flashed and the sirens screamed as the ambulance wove its way through the streets of Gotham City. In the back, two paramedics worked frantically to stabilize a young unconscious woman who was bleeding profusely from both wrists. They hooked an I.V. in her arm with hopes of keeping fluids flowing through her and keeping her well hydrated. If they didn't stop the bleeding soon, there would be no hope for her. The ambulance pulled into the emergency room entrance, where the paramedics rolled the young woman in on a stretcher. She was then handed over to the on duty doctors and the EMT's went on to answer the next 911 call.

It didn't take long after that for the woman to be stabilized and her wrists patched up. It hadn't been some cry for attention because she had slit straight up both arms. Twenty stitchedhad beenneeded in each. When she came to, she was not at all happy. Her throat was dry, her eyes were swollen, and her entire body was sore. Her doctor came in and the woman informed him as to how lucky he was that she couldn't lift her arms, because if she could have, she would have beat the shit out of him for saving her life. It took more than forty-five minutes for him to get her to tell him her name. Heather Herst.

The doctor recommended that she be sent immediately to the psychiatric ward and be kept under observation. However, the psych ward didn't have a bed to spare, so a nurse told him that their only option was to either let her go or send her to Arkham Asylum. So, while Heather's doctor was none too thrilled at the idea of sending a suicidal patient to an asylum for the criminally insane, he liked the thought of sending her back out into the world where she would be free to just try it again even less. He signed the transfer papers and placed Heather into the care of Dr. Jonathan Crane with every confidence that she would be looked after.

Heather wasn't happy either at the news that she was being transferred to the famed asylum. She was already convinced that dying was more appealing than her life and now they were sending her to a place many people considered hell on earth. If they thought that shutting her away in a mental torture chamber was going to help her get better, they were the crazy ones, not her. She had heard things about the director of the asylum, Dr. Crane. She had heard that he was a freak and creepy as all hell. After all, how normal could the person who ran that place be?

Sadly, the powers that be had made up their minds and there was no amount of begging or pleading that was going to get her out of this one. No, sure as the sun, Heather was on her way to Arkham Asylum first thing in the morning.

All the way out past the borders of the city sat the tall castle-like mental institution that had struck fear into so many with just the mere mention of its name. Most would just as soon take a death sentence as opposed to a stay within its walls. Though Heather's doctor had assured her treatment would be far different from that of the other patients, she still felt a sickening sense of dread in the pit of her stomach as the hospital van neared her new residence. With promises that Gotham City Hospital staff would be checking in on her on aregular basis, she was walked up to the large doors that made up the entrance of Arkham.


	2. Chapter One: Heather

**Author's Note: **Here's the first chapter. Please let me know what you think. I welcome all kinds of reviews, including critisizm as long as it is constructive. That said, read on!

**Chapter One: Heather**

Heather looked heavenward, trying her best to see the top of the stone building and absently tongued at her swollen bottom lip. She had made a smartass comment to one of her guards and he had smacked her across the face. Heavy gray clouds hovered ominously in the sky. The ten foot tall metal doors swung inward, granting access to the overwhelming facility and, as if on cue, lightening crashed and a roll of thunder boomed somewhere in the distance. Heather's attention snapped back to the opening doors and her body tensed in flight preparation. As if sensing her thoughts, the two orderlies that stood to either side of her tightened their grips on her arms. The doors opened to reveal four men. Two of them wore matching white orderly uniforms and stood with their arms crossed like nightclub bouncers. One had close cropped hair and the other was completely bald. They were both burly like wrestlers and both had a very physically threatening air about them. The next man was short and round with thin silvery hair which he wore in a combover. He wore gray slacks, a yellow tie, and a white labcoat over a white button up shirt with a large ketchup stain on the chest. He was about as intimidating as one of Jim Henson's muppets. The final man was very tall and lean. He was clad in a well cut charcoal suit along with a dark blue tie, stood with his hands clasped behind his back and appeared to be very relaxed. He had thick black hair and wore clear rimmed glasses that looked very sophisticated over his startling blue eyes. Heather had noticed those eyes before anything else. He didn't seem very threatening, but there was something menacing about his smile and in those eyes. Heather couldn't place it, but there was something about that one that she just didn't trust.

Heather wasn't one to be scared easily, though. She looked right at those four men and flashed them her very brightest and most defiant smile. The one in glasses met her challenge head-on, allowing his own smile to grow wider. He stepped forward and distinguished himself as the authortarian of the group.

"Ms. Herst, hello. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane, the director here at Arkham. Dr. Lendell sends his apologies once again that you had to be placed here." he said in a smooth intellectual tone, "I want to offer you my personal assurance that you have nothing to fear during your stay here. We have already mapped out an individual schedule for you so that you will have no interaction with our more dangerous patients and I will personally be handling your therapy."

"Peachy." Heather retorted.

Crane's eyes seemed to spark at her fiery come back, as though her open sarcasm had excited him. That sudden flash made her curious about him, moreso than she should be, but she refused to let it show. She watched his gaze drop down and focus on her neatly bandaged wrists. Perhaps he would ask her what on earth had made her want to take her own life as the other's had. What would she say? Did it really matter? He seemed considerate for a long moment, then snapped himself out of it.

"Okay then, gentlemen," Crane said, addressing Heather's guards, though he seemed fixed on one in particular, the very one that had hit her, "it's safe to leave Ms. Herst in our more than capable hands. Send my regards to Dr. Lendell."

The orderlies released Heather's arms and retreated back to their vehicle. The two Arkham orderlies took their places at her sides, but they did not touch her. Crane closed the distance between them and bent so that he was eye level with her. He seemed to be studying her. Refusing to turn away, Heather's gaze burned right back into his.

"If you'll follow me, Ms. Herst, I'll show you to your accomodations." he said, straightening his stance at once.

"I despise being called Ms. Herst." Heather said as they began walking.

"Well, we don't want you to be in an unpleasant mood while here, so, what would you prefer we call you?" Crane asked.

"By my first name."

"I'm sorry, I don't have my file on me..." he said.

She glared at him...or more specifically, at the back of his head. She had the sneaking suspicion that he knew perfectly well what her name was, but he wanted to make her say it. "Heather."

"Of course." Crane said, his lips curving upward at the corners, "We will gladly refer to you as Heather."

Crane lead Heather down a long, narrow corridor. The two muscle bound baffoons were at her sides and the little round guy was waddling along behind her.

"Oh, forgive me, Heather. You must think my manners ghastly for not introducing my colleague." Crane said rather suddenly, "That is Dr. Mildred. He runs our lab and for all intents and purposes, he is my assistant."

Heather glanced over her shoulder, "Pleasure."

The squat little man was desperately trying to keep up and perspiring heavily from the effort. "Uh, likewise, my dear, likewise."

They reached a heavily rusted metal door at which Crane drew to a halt and pulled a key from his inner jacket pocket. With a clank, the door unlocked and swung open. Crane stepped to the side and gestured with one arm for her to enter.

"Ms. Her...my apologies. Heather." Crane said with a wide smile.

Heather cocked an eyebrow at him and walked through the shadowy doorway. The room was padded all around, including the ceiling and floor. There was a metal bed, more like a cot, flat against the far wall with a naked pillow in the center of it. Folded neatly on top of the pillow was an ugly gray blanket, a set of dingy white sheets and a matching and equally dingy pillowcase. She noticed a gap in the wall at the same wall as the door and peaked her head through it. There, she found her personal toilet and sink.

"Where's my shower?" she asked.

"Showers will be supervized." Crane responded.

"Excuse me?" Heather said, turning toward him.

Crane smiled, "By a female nurse, of course."

Heather nodded, accepting that she didn't have any choice in the matter. She had known that she wouldn't be allowed to bathe alone. The possibility of her drowning herself was far too appealing and the good Dr. Crane know that. "No windows?" she asked.

"Again, my apologies, Heather. We do exist to help the disturbed, but we are also to serve as a punishment for criminals. None of our cells have windows."

"Right." Heather said, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the wall.

"Simon." Crane said, and the bald orderly stepped forward and handed him some clothes. "Here you are, Heather."

He seemed to delight in saying her name. She went to him and snatched the material from his hands, being careful not to touch him. She wasn't sure yet what to make of him. He wasn't frightening, really. Creepy, most definitely. But, he was better looking than she would have imagined and younger, as well. He had such pretty features, and yet there was something undeniably masculine about them. He had high gorgeous cheekbones and full lips.

"I trust you've had dinner." Crane said, breaking her from her thoughts and she nodded her head. "Well, then, until morning." He tilted his head forward in a gentlemanly gesture, looking at her from over the tops of his glasses, "Good night." With that, he retreated from the room and shut the door. Heather heard the lock snap and waited until Dr. Crane's bright eyes had vanished from the small rectangular window at the top of the door, and then examined the clothes that he had given her.

She slid out of her jeans and sweater and jacket and pulled on the gray scrubs and white tank top. She had just finished making her bed when the single light bulb which hung from the ceiling flickered and then went out. There was no window, therefore no moon or stars for her to gaze out at. The room was cloaked in heavy darkness, the only light leaking in through the rectangle atop the door. It came in as a single stream and formed and small glowing box above the foot of her bed. Heather slipped in between the sheets, which were surprisingly soft, and pulled them up to her chin. How could a room covered in such thick padding, that could serve easily as insulation, be so freaking cold?


	3. Chapter Two: Heather

**Author's Note: **Next chapter. Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate all of your imput and I will take all critisizm to heart, (thank you, ). I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to let me know what you think.

**SpadesJade- **Tell me about it. Personally, I think it's the bad boy appeal and let's face it, Cillian is soooo good at being bad. I look forward to your next review...and your next story, by the way.

Anyways, hope you guys like this chapter, and just wait until I post the _Red Eye _fic I'm working on. (Shameless self-promotion!)

**Chapter Two: Heather**

The sun had barely peaked over the horizon outside when Heather was woken up by the loud sound of her room door swinging open. The lightbulb above her buzzed and sputtered as it flashed on, illuminating the white room in a dim, eerie light which cast shadows in the upper corners. Heather sat up and groggily rubbed at her red, puffy eyes with her knuckles. Her hands were cold, her mouth felt fuzzy, and the light, however dim, was hurting her eyes. She cleared her throat in an attempt to fully awaken herself and looked up to find herself staring into Dr. Crane's unwavering eyes. He offered her a small gray plastic case that resembled an old makeup bag, which she took after just a moment of hesitation. He leaned on his left shoulder against the wall nearest to her and crossed his arms over his chest, propping his right ankle behind the other. His gaze was on her every move as she unzipped the bag and rummaged through its contents.

"Just your basic necessities," Crance said, "tooth brush, tooth paste, hand and face soap, that sort of thing. We haven't had many women here, so I fear we are a bit under-prepared. But, if you'll let me know what kind of shampoo it is that you use, I'll have it picked up for you."

"Great hotel you're runnin' here, doc." Heather quipped, looking up at him. He seemed entirely out of place in these surroundings. He could have stepped right off of the page of a _GQ _magazine with his perfectly pressed suit and designer tie. The way he was looking at her unnerved her, though she wouldn't let him know that. It was as though he were studying her, but then he probably was. It was his job to do so, after all. She glanced back down to the bag in her lap and inquired, "What about a razor and shaving cream?"

When she looked back up at him, Crane raised both of his eyebrows and she swore she saw amusement dancing in those eyes of his. He nodded towards her wrists and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

Heather put on her most flirtacious smile, "Come on, doc. Don't make me walk around with hairy legs."

Crane said nothing. He just stared at her with a considerate look for a long moment then licked his lips and replied, "Let me think about it. If I can think of a way to make sure that you won't hurt yourself, I'll allow it."

Heather beamed a thousand watt smile at him. "Thanks a million, doc." she chirped, pushing herself from her bed and padding into her bathroom.

"When you've finished in here, I'll take you to breakfast." he called.

"Yay." Heather groaned through a mouthful of tooth paste.

"Come now, Heather. Aren't you excited?" Crane said. Heather could practically hear the smug smirk that played on his lips oozing out through his sing-song voice, "We get to start your therapy today!"

Heather emerged from the bathroom, tooth brush still in cheek. "So," she said, removing the plain, frill-less, nondescript utensil from her mouth and wiping a bit of tooth paste foam from her chin, "you're really gonna be handling me yourself, huh?"

"Me and me alone." he said, his voice changing ever so slightly. He softened his tone so that it seemed to ask her for her trust, which was something she was not ready to give him quite yet. She needed a better feel on him before she would be willing to let him know anything about her, let alone what it was about her life that was so unbearable. That was something that she hadn't shared with anyone and she sure as hell wasn't just going to start talking to some psychiatrist about it. He straightened from the wall and smoothed a hand over his burgundy tie.

Heather matched his gaze head on, looking him dead in the eyes and not even trying to hide her skepticism. "Why?" she asked, "What makes me so special that the director of Arkham is willing to treat me personally?"

Crane didn't even flinch. "My staff is used to working over dangerous psychotic criminals and they can be pretty tough. I don't think it would be wise of me if I were to entrust them with a delicate mind such as yours."

"But I should trust you?" she said, cocking one perfectly arched eyebrow in suspicion.

The question earned her a grin and the doctor held up his hands in submission. "I'll wear my kid gloves."

"Do you have any?" Heather quipped, not backing down one inch.

Crane's grin grew even wider, "Eygptian Cotton."

"Just so you know, I don't have anything wrong with me." she stated plainly.

"You tried to kill yourself, Heather." Crane said, dropping his hands to his sides.

"So? Life sucks."

"May as well end it all."

"Pretty much."

"Fascinating."

"Not really."

"Hmm." Crane considered her for a second before walking to the door and opening it for her, "Shall we have breakfast?"

Heather rolled her eyes and sidled past him out the door. Crane walked beside her, hands clasped behind his back. She took a moment to observe him out of the corner of her eye. He struck her as being frighteningly intelligent. Heather had the feeling that he could read almost anybody as if they were a book and wondered if he could read her just as easily. Not that she really cared; she had nothing to hide therefore wasn't trying to. She was certain that he must make a lot of people nervous, or at the very least uncomfortable, with the way he was so blatantly and obviously the smartest man around. She probably would have been intimidated by him herself had she not already been so curious about what made him tick.

Crane lead her through the concrete halls to the main cafeteria, which was about the length of a football field. It reminded her of a high school cafteria with long table stretching nearly wall to wall, leaving only enough room to walk single file around the perimeter. There were flat benches attached to both sides of every table big enough to seat three people on each. Not counting the five or so cooks who were scurrying about their business in the kitchen, she and Crane were the only two people in the room. Crane walked with her around the bar as she fixed herself a tray of what vauely resembled breakfast food and then lead her to a table where he sat down across from her.

"I could just starve myself, you know." Heather said without touching her food.

"And I could just have you fed intravenously...you know." Crane countered, the last two words said in a heightened mocking tone.

Heather felt her brow furrow as she stabbed her fork down hard and crammed her mouth full of overcooked eggs. She hadn't meant to let him get a glimpse of her temper, but she just had. She kicked herself for it mentally, but there was nothing she could do about it anymore. She calmed herself down and finished the meal without another outburst. After breakfast, Crane lead her down yet another dark, shady corridor that made her think of something that had had all the life sucked out of it. The floors of the asylum were cold, hard cement and Heather was walking along in no shoes, only socks. Her toes were freezing.

"God, this place is so bleak." she commented, wrapping her arms around herself, as if protecting herself from whatever might be lurking in the shadows, "And they sent me here to try and convince me that there's something worth living for. Good call, fellas!"

Crane didn't say anything. He just kept walking, hands behind his back as usual, his eyes staring straight ahead. At the corner of the hallway, Crane stopped and opened a door, revealing a very long and narrow staircase. Heather stepped forward and peaked up to see a lone door at the very top. She looked to Crane, who gestured for her to go, so she began to very slowly climb the stairs. The stairwell wasn't wide enough for him to continue walking beside her, so Crane let her enter first, shut the door behind him and ascended the stairs after her. When Heather reached the door at the top of the stairs, she reached to twist the knob only to find it locked. Crane's slim arm snaked around her waist to the door, catching Heather's attention, she turned slightly. He was standing very close. So close, she caught a whiff of his cologne and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the pleasing scent. The clicking of the lock drew her back to reality as Crane pushed open the door to what turned out to be his office.

The office was warmer than the rest of the asylum, but only by a degree or two. Heather stepped in and scanned her surroundings, trying to get some sort of grasp as to just who Dr. Crane was. There was dark blue carpet on the floor and the walls were painted blue as well, just a shade lighter than the floor. The colors were surprisingly soothing and tranquil together. Dark cherry oak bookshelves that were overflowing with books of all kinds lined the walls and at the far end of the room was a matching cherry oak desk that was piled high with stacks of papers and folders and...coffee mugs. There was a thick dark leather chair behind the desk and a plush matching sofa and chase set in front of it. Several degrees, certifications, and awards hung on the walls, confirming her assumptions about his intellect. There was a standing lamp in each corner behind the desk and then one table lamp that sat on it. The table lamp was on, casting the desk in a rather warm, luscious glow. But there were no personal items that she could see decorating the office. No pictures, no art, not even a bowling trophy. There was nothing at all, unless you counted the expensive looking leatherbound briefcase that sat on the floor beside the desk, which Heather didn't. she did however, find herself wondering what was inside of that briefcase.

Crane came in behind her, shutting the door at the same time instructing her to have a seat. Heather went and plopped down on the leather sofa, curling her feet up underneath her to warm them. Despite the fact that the office was warmer than the rest of the building, it could still be classified as chilly and Heather involuntarily shivered. "Nice office, doc." she said, "Cozy."

"Are you cold?" Crane asked.

She laughed at the question. "This place is like one giant ice box! Of course I'm cold."

Crane pulled a black sweatshirt from a closet that was hidden out of sight on the other side of one of the bookcases and offered it to her. Heather snatched it greedily and immediately pulled it over her head, thankful for its thickness. It was about five sizes too big and baggy enough that she could tuck her knees under it as well, so she did. As she snuggled further into the warm material, she again caught the scent of Crane's cologne. It wasn't an Arkham issued sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was his...as in for his own personal use.

"So," Crane began, walking behind his desk and shuffling through some of the papers that were strewn across it.

"So?" Heather retorted with a smile.

Crane peaked at her without lifting his face. He sighed and came back around to the front of the desk, propping himself up on it. He pushed his glasses higher up on his nose and crossed his arms. For a moment, he just stared at her. Heather didn't bat an eye. The way they stared at each other had turned into some sort of an unspoken challenge, and Heather was determined not to lose.

"So, let's talk about those cuts on your arms." Crane said.

"What about them?"

"Well, we'll start small. What did you use to make them?"

"Kitchen knife."

"Dull or sharp?"

"I sharpened it myself." Heather said with pride.

"You wanted to do it quick, then?"

"The point was to die. Not sit there hacking away at my arm for an hour just hoping that I might break the skin."

"Did you want to feel pain?"

"I've felt enough pain in my life, doc."


	4. Chapter Three: Crane

**Author's Note: **Nobody reviewed my last chapter, so if you don't think that I should continue with this story, please let me know. Here's the next installment...please let me know what you think!

**Chapter Three: Crane**

Dr. Jonathan Crane sat in his office flipping through Heather Herst's file. Nothing in it seemed very out of the ordinary by Gother standards. Her mother had died when she was seven and that same month her father had started to abuse her. When she turned ten, she had been raped by her seventeen year old half brother. She had run away from home two weeks after her thirteenth birthday and been picked up by the police on prostitution charges a month later. She was returned to the custody of her father, but ran away again that same night and disappeared from the radar for more than two years. At fifteen, she started working in a sleazy bar down by the docks and had been working there ever since. She had just turned twenty-two and had apparently decided that it was her time.

The peculiar thing about Heather was that she had once upon a time been a heroine addict, but had cleaned herself up. She had cared enough about her body to wing herself off of drugs, but thought herself worthless enough to die. What a contradiction she was!

He tossed the folder on his desk and leaned back in his chair, pulling his glasses from his face and massaging the bridge of his nose as he did so. Heather hadn't said much to him at the session earlier that day, but he had learned a great deal about her nonetheless from her body language. She had been shivering, but then again, the aylum was always freezing. She had accepted his personal sweatshirt, which told him that she would be open to the idea of trusting him at some point. When she sat down on the sofa, she had curled up comfortably and relaxed telling him that she was not afraid of him. No big surprise there when he thought about it. He guessed that there wasn't a whole that actually did scare her. Looking back at the paper trail of her life, he couldn't convince himself that her bravado was an act. She had grown up in a world where fear was not considered to be an option. But Jonathan had every confidence in his abilities. He knew that everyone was afraid of something and he would find out what it was that scared her.

He stood up, slipping his glasses back up onto his nose, shrugging out of his suit jacket and jerking the knot in his tie loose. He paced around his office trying to clear his head. His mind kept wandering back to the image of Heather when he had first laid eyes on her. She had had an escort on either side of her, holding her arms, but she did not struggle against them and she had shown him no fear. She just stood there, petite and defiant, her button nose turned up at him. He had noticed her plump lips, particularly the bottom one. It had been busted open. He eyed both of her guards and noticed that one of them had a stream of blood trickling down his knuckle. He hadn't doubted for second that the big brute had hit her, but it was hardly of any concern to him. However, a purely territorial urge had come over him and he had fixed the offending guard with an icy glare before giving his attention fully back to Heather. She had stared up at him, green eyes narrowed into slits, her lovely young face partially obscured by her red hair which had been hanging wildy around her shoulders. Basically, he had examined every inch of her with his eyes. She had stood with her shoudlers hunched slightly forward, one hip cocked out, and she had been tapping one foot impatiently. That bit had actually made him smile. When he spotted her wrists, he made a mental note as to how far up the bandages went on her arms. He wanted a glimpse at those cuts.

There was a knock at Jonathan's office door, breaking him from his thoughts. "Come in." he called.

The door opened with a high pitched creak and the silhouette of Dr. Stanly Mildred came toddling into the room. The two men were cast in shadows, for the only light in the room came from the small table lamp on Jonathan's desk.

"Stanly." Jonathan said in acknowledgement of the man's presence.

Mildred sat down heavily onto the sofa with a loud huff escaping his lips. "Dr. Crane."

Jonathan crossed to the other side of the office and switched on both of the standing lamps in the corners of the room, instantly brightening up the darkness. Once the lights were on Jonathan went to his desk and fell back into his chair, stretching his arms up and tucking them behind his head. "Tell me, Stanly," Jonathan started, "what do you make of our pretty little patient?"

"I think," Mildred began as he pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his glistening forehead. Too many stairs. He paused to catch his breath. "I think that you should keep a watchful eye on Simon and Hal. Especially Hal."

"Why do you say that?"

"He was practically licking his lips when he saw her."

"Yes. I noticed as much."

"And you don't care if he defiles the poor girl?"

"The word defile implies that there is something to tarnish and I'm not entirely sure that there is."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm entirely serious, but you're asking the wrong question. Do I believe that he can defile her? No. Do I believe that he can rape her? Yes. Will I allow it? Of course I won't let Hal do anything to her. Surely he knows that if he were to try anything, I would deal with him immediately and he doesn't want to answer to me."

"Hal isn't smart enough to realize that he won't be able to sneak and get away with it." Mildred said.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Jonathan complied.

Mildred nodded and stuffed his hanky back into his pocket, "Will you be needing a ready sample of the toxin?"

Jonathan thought very carefully about the idea of dosing Heather with the powdered fear. It still needed some tweaking and honestly, he wasn't ever certain if he would ever want to use the toxin on her. "No." he said, though he was still considering, "No. Not yet."

"Why did you take her on?" Mildred asked.

"So far, we've only been able to test the toxin on men who are criminally disturbed," Jonathan began, "and I would like to have a reasonably sound mind around to try it on...and a woman at that."

"And yet you won't test her."

"I need a few more sessions with her." Jonathan mumbled distractedly, "I need a better grip on her...state of mind."

"Hmm." Mildred said, "Well, anyhow, here are the results from Andrew's test."

"About that, his reaction didn't seem as strong this time as it did before. I didn't think it was possible to develope an immunity."

"It isn't, but I had lowered the ammonium hoping that it would let out more of the serum." Mildred told him, flipping through his chart.

"So, the ammonium empowers the serum...interesting." Jonathan pondered. Mildred could practically see the wheels in his mind turning. He didn't doubt Dr. Jonathan Crane's genius for even a second. Many people had underestimated Jonathan due to his apparent youth, but they hadn't managed to even slow the young man down. He was officially the youngest director in Arkham's history, and very few people even knew the depths of his true intelligence. "Try upping the ammonium just a bit in the next batch. I want to see just how far we can push the envelope without actually breaking it."

Mildred nodded and scribbled down some notes, "All right. The adjustments won't be difficult at all. Well, if you don't need anything else, I think I'll go home to bed."

"That's fine. I'll see you in the morning."

With quite a bit of difficulty, Mildred pushed his great round body up and off the couch and lumbered out the door, leaving Jonathan once again alone with his thoughts. He rubbed at the back of his neck and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, exhaling a long drawn out breath. Something about Heather's attitude intrigued him. He wanted to probe her mind; to open her head and look around inside. Sighing heavily to himself, he reached under his desk and searched with his fingers until he found and pushed the small round button that was located there. A gentle buzzing sounded as a panel of the wall where one of his many diplomas was mounted slid upward revealing a large flat television screen. The picture flickered to life and the screen was immediately filled with the cell that Heather was currently pacing back and forth in. This was courtesy of a camera that was hidden high out of sight in the upper corner of the room. It allowed him to see every inch in that room. He watched Heather push on the walls and bounce on the floor and he felt a smile slide across his lips. She was trying to amuse herself. Apparently, she didn't like laying about and got bored easily. Jonathan was all of the sudden bombarded with the urge to know everything about this woman; her hopes, her dreams...her fears. Especially her fears. And he would find them.

He watched her jump onto her bed, pull her knees up to her chest, and begin to rock back and forth. His smile grew at the sight. She was jittery and unable to stay still; she wanted out of that room. Instinctively, he grabbed his pen and jotted himself down a quick note:

_Possible claustrophobio._

He needed to figure out what it was about her that he found so utterly fascinating. Perhaps it was the way she seemed so fearless. Maybe he _should _try some toxin on her. No. No. It wasn't ready, yet and he wanted to be absolutely certain before he did anything to that mind of hers.

His office phone gave a shrill cry, pulling him back to reality. "Dr. Crane." He answered.

"Doctor, I'm sorry to bother you but the patient in cell 15H is causing a rather noisy disturbance." the voice at the other end of the line said.

Jonathan glanced at the screen to see that Heather was now kicking and pounding on her door.

"Should I deal with her?" the guard asked.

"No." Jonathan said too quickly for even his own comfort, "I'll see to her."

He strolled confidently through the halls of the asylum toward her room. His face was a calculated cross between boredom and completely expressionless. The loud crashing of her feet on the door echoed down the hallway, becoming clearer and more distinct as Jonathan drew closer. He stopped in front of the door and peered through the window at her, locking with her green eyes almost instantly. The relentless beating ceased and Heather stepped back allowing Jonathan enough room to open the door.

"Good evening, Heather." he said as he entered.

"Evenin', doc." she replied, still fidgeting and in constant motion, "You got any cards or somethin'?"

"Not readily available, no. But I can pick some up for you tomorrow." he answered.

Heather appeared to be very ill at ease. She kept slapping one hand with the other, "Well, maybe we could go for a walk, then?"

She still had on his sweatshirt.

"I fear that that would be considered inappropriate behavior on my part." Jonathan told her.

"Oh, come on, doc!" Heather pleaded, "I won't tell if you won't."

"I'm sorry, Heather, no."

"I'm bored." Heather whined, "And there is nothing in this room!"

"I could get you some sleeping pills."

"How many?"

"Not enough to harm you."

"Well, then what's the point?"

Jonathan grinned, but quickly wiped it off of his face. "You really should try to remember that we are not here to aid in your self-destruction."

Heather sighed, "Pity."

Jonathan wanted to laugh, but he knew that he couldn't. One of his strongest qualities had always been his self restraint. He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, "Is there anything else?"

"No." Heather said deflated, then eyed him suspiciously, "Wow, doc, you almost look casual.

The comment confused Jonathan at first, then he looked down at his appearance which he had forgotten all about. He felt as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet when he saw his current state of dress. He had not meant for her to see him looking so unprofessional. "I apologize. I..."

"Don't." Heather interrupted, her eyes sparkling at him, "I think I like you better this way. You don't seem quite so stuffy."

"Stuffy?"

"Yeah, stuffy." she said smiling ever so subtly as she walked around him in a slow circle. For some reason, her slow dragged out movements made him think of a predatory car. "All you need to do now is roll up the sleeves and untuck the shirt and we might just have something we can work with."

"I don't think I understand."

"No. I didn't think you would." She stepped toward him and reached for his waist, "Here."

Before Jonathan had the chance to react, she had caught the material of his shirt in her hands and jerked one side free from the confines of his belt. She put a hand on his shoulder and stepped closer to him as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. She stepped closer still, so that the entire length of her body was touching his, her mouth a mere breath away from his own.

"Now," she breathed, running one hand down his tie and the other down his arm, "we just have to give you a rumpled look. How can we do that, I wonder?"

"I wonder." Jonathan repeated, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

She unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve with one hand as the other snaked to the back of his neck. Jonathan felt the tug as she pulled his face toward hers and just before their lips met, he felt her fingers brush against his bare wrist and instinctivelt shot away from her. Heather stared at him in shock from the sudden rejection.

"This would definitely be considered inappropriate behavior on my part!" he said quickly, tucking his shirt tails back into his waistband and exiting the room without so much as another word.

He more or less sprinted the entire way back to his office where he tore open his cabinet and pulled out the bottle of twelve year old scotch he had hidden there. He rarely ever drank, but at that moment he needed it. With a mere two minutes, if that, of physical contact, that patient...the girl had managed to cause him to come completely unhinged. He buttoned the cuff of his sleeve with one hand at the same time he was pouring himself a full glass of scotch. He down it quickly and poured another. He glanced over his shoulder as the television which was still on. He stared at Heather who was curled up in a ball on her bed. As he as looking at her, he felt a twitch between his legs and in a panicked speed he switched off the screen. He ripped his glasses from his face and flung them onto his desk before massaging both of his eyes. He needed a cold shower. There was something about that woman that was doing things to him; causing stirring that shouldn't be there. She was reminding him that deep down, he was still only a man...and he hated her for that.

Maybe allowing her to come to Arkham was a bad idea but how was he supposed to have know that? He fell back into his chair, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt at fighting off his oncoming headache. He knew that it would do no good but it was something to do...something that he could focus on. He glanced one last time at the blank screen before again hitting the little button and allowing the wall panel to fall back into place. He finished off his drink, grabbed his jacket and shuffled out of his office to get back to his apartment as fast as he could possibly drive. He just needed to get himself away from her, that was all. Away from the temptation of her.

What was wrong with him? He wasn't like this! He had never allowed himself to be susceptable to the wants and lusts of other men. What was it that made this girl so damn special? Her fearlessness. That had to be it. It was the only logical explanation. He couldn't read her as he could other people and it was making him insane! That settled it. He had never before let his personal feelings influence a decision but something had to be done about this, and soon! He decided that within the week, he would use the fear toxin on her. Once he saw her cowering before him, he was almost certain that his irrational infatuation with her would end.


	5. Chapter Four: Heather

**Author's Note: **Thanks everyone for the wonderful reviews! Knowing that my story is being read and enjoyed makes it easy to get motivated for the next chapter...so here it is! Be sure to let me know what you think of it, as well!

**Chapter Four: Heather**

When that orderly, Simon, pulled open her cell door the next morning, Heather was already sitting up awake on her bed. She cocked her head to the side and beamed a bright smile up at the balding man. "Are you my servant boy, this morning?"

"Come with me, please, Ms. Herst. I've got to take you to the cafeteria before the rest of the patients wake up." Simon said reaching out for her.

"I'm not hungry." Heather snapped recoiling violently from his advancing hand.

"Do I look like I give a damn? Dr. Crane told me to take you to eat, I do as I'm told." He spat.

Heather froze at the mention of the name. Her mind was flooded with images of the previous night. She really wasn't sure what had happened or what had come over her and made her so bold. Maybe she had been bored. Maybe he had just looked too appealing standing there with his tie jerked loose and his pretty blue eyes. It was still no excuse; she should not have done what she did. It wasn't right of her. She suddenly thought of the moment when she had touched his neck. his skin had been so warm and soft, his hair so silky and smooth. Her body had reacted accordingly and she had wanted to feel more of him. She sensed something about him, something that she couldn't quite put a name to, but it was there. No! Bad thoughts! She snapped herself back into reality and found herself being guided by her elbow down the hall. How in the hell had she gotten there? She looked to her side and her eyes landed on Simon. She instantly twisted her arm out of his grasp and flew to the other side of the hall away from him.

"Please don't touch me!" she hissed.

"God, no wonder Dr. Crane didn't want to put up with you." He snarled coming toward her.

To say that Simon was far from an intellectual superior would be a dramatic understatement. If he had two brain cells in his entire head his own mother would have been shocked. Hence, he wasn't perceptive enough to realize that the remark had stung her. She knew that she shouldn't have been surprised, hell she had more or less molested him, but there was a part of her that was very surprised. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at the orderly. Dr. Crane damn good and well would deal with her. He was, after all, her couselor.

"Come on." Simon commanded.

Heather glared at him, "No."

"Oh, now what?"

"I want to speak with Dr. Crane," she said, "Now!"

"I'm not here to hand out wishes."

"Good thing I'm not asking for a wish, then."

"Sorry, girly, nothin' I can do. Let's go!"

Heather stiffened her body in determination and set her face into a stern stone-like expression, "Well, I won't move unless it's en route to Dr. Crane's office."

"Is that right?" Simon said as both of his enormous hands clamped down on her upper arms, "We'll just see about that."

Heather set her feet in a firm stance and struggled aggressively against him, but the orderly held tight. He had subdue stronger patients than her, no doubt. She squirmed in his arms, repeatedly kicked him in the knees and shins, and stomped on both of his huge feet. When he reached for her throat, a primal instinct made her bite down hard on the fleshy part of his hand.

Simon yelped like a dog and pulled away from her. "You stupid little bitch!" he snarled as he drew his hand back in the air as to strike her.

Heather flattened herself against the wall, turning her face away and closing her eyes in preparation for the impending blow. What she received instead was the sound of a clear, confident voice.

"Don't even think about it." Said Crane, who had appeared suddenly and as from out of nowhere.

Simon froze as though someone had hit a pause button. Heather glanced at Crane and had to admit, he seemed pretty intimidating at the moment. He was standing perfectly still in his smart black blazer and slacks with his hands behind his back. He face was stern, his jaw clenced, eyes cold and threatening as they glared at the orderly from behind his glasses. There was something powerful and dominate about him as he stood there, like a patient Cobra just waiting for a reason to strike. Heather didn't think she had ever wanted to jump someone's bones so bad in her life.

Simon lowered his hand very slowly and took two steps back from Heather. "Sorry, sir." he said.

Crane stepped forward, his posture perfectly straight, his gaze never leaving Simon. "You can go now, Simon." he stated, "I'll take over from here."

"Yes, sir." Simon replied quickly. He cast Heather a menacing glare, which was not missed by the doctor, before turning and retreating to God knew where down the hallway.

Crane shifted his attention to Heather, who straightened from the wall and smiled up at him. "My hero." she cooed.

"My apologies," he said professionally, "As I told you before, my staff is used to dealing with an exceptionally disorderly group."

"He wouldn't have had to _deal _with me at all had you come to get me as you should've."

Crane ignored the statement. "Come, Heather." he said coldly, "We should start you session."

"No breakfast?" she asked.

"Not today."

Heather eyed him suspiciously as he turned his back to her. He was giving her the cold shoulder, trying to pretend that she had not had an affect on him last night. He thought that he could put her off by being cold and cruel and mean. Did he really think that she was stupid enough to believe that he had scrambled out of her cell last night because she had had absolutely _no _affect on him whatsoever? Well, if he thought that he could just make the incident go away, he had another thing coming. She followed him up the stairs to his office and shut the door behind her.

Crane unbuttoned his blazer and turned toward her, revealing a burgundy sweater he wore underneath. For some reason, the sight of that sweater made him seem less intimidating to Heather. He looked more like a teacher's assistant in college than he did the respected director of a well-known psychiatric facility.

"So, doc," she chirped, propping her hands on her hips, "Where do we stand on those razors? I'm startin' to feel kinda fuzzy."

Crane exhaled, "I'm still not convinced that you won't try and hurt yourself."

"What, and miss out on all this fun? Never."

Crane shuffled through a folder on his desk nervously. The dim lamp on his desk cast shadows over his face really accentuating his strong jaw and high cheek bones. Heather smirked and sauntered toward him, brushing her fingertips along the smooth surface of his desk. "What's the matter, doc? You seem a little...distraught."

Crane looked up abruptly and Heather felt her breath catch in her throat at the icy glare that was at once in his eyes. She unconsciously took a few steps backward. He didn't look like a harmless teacher's assistant anymore.

"Let's talk about Scott." he said.

Heather's stomach churned and twisted wildly at the name. "S-Scott?"

"Yeah," Crane said, "Scott, your brother, right?"

"Half."

"Of course, your half brother. Let's talk about him."

"I don't see what there is to talk about." Heather said, her gaze dropping to her feet and staying there.

"You don't?" Crane asked incredulously, folding his arms over his chest and stepping out from behind his desk, "Oh, Heather, I think there's plenty to talk about."

He came toward her and Heather retracted from him, her knees hitting the couch and giving out, causing her to fall onto the cushy surface. Crane's blue eyes bore down on her, holding her there, trapping her. She would have clawed and scraped until her fingernails came off if it only meant that she could escape his venomous glare.

"I don't want to talk about Scott." she said trying not to let her voice tremble.

"He was what, seven years older than you?"

Heather didn't say anything.

"Heather, how much older than you was he?"

"What does it matter?" she said still glaring at the floor.

"How much older than you was he?" Crane repeated, his tone both firm and cold.

"Seven years."

"How old were you the first time he molested you?"

She could actually feel the vile rising in her throat and feared that she would vomit all over the office, "I was ten."

"Intercourse?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, "Yes."

"How many times did it happen?"

She could feel her lower lip quivering and mentally chided herself, willing it to stop; willing herself to not show weakness. She pressed her hands between her knees in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "About five."

"And how many times were consensual?"

Her head snapped up, her gaze focusing on him as her breathing became shaky while struggled for control. She saw some unfamiliar emotion flash through his eyes. "Please..." she begged, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Answer me." Crane demanded.

At that moment she hated him with a passion like no other. He had no right! Who was he to judge her? Who the hell did he think he was to knock the world out from under her like that? She couldn't crumble. She didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her break, but she didn't no how much of this she could withstand.

She stared back at his unflinching gaze dead on and hissed, "Once."

After she admitted that, there was no hope of control. She looked away from him as tears began to fall freely from her eyes. Her head dropped to her hands and her fingers were instantly in her hair, tugging at the strands. She didn't want to think about it ever again. She didn't want to think about _him_ or what he had done to her. She was just fine as long as she didn't think about it. She was starting to get angry, which was fine with her. Anger felt better than sadness. She had more power with anger; more control.

She glared back up at Crane to find him rubbing his fingers over his eyes and up through his spikey hair, his glasses between his lips. When he finally slid them back up onto his nose, he looked at her.

"All right," he said, clearing something from his throat, "I think that's enough for today."

"What's the matter, doc?" she snapped, "Aren't you gonna fix me?"

"That's enough, Heather."

"Don't you wanna hear details?"

"Enough, Heather."

"Don't you wanna hear...how he tied a little ten year old girl to a head board with fishing line..." by this point, her voice had risen to a scream.

"Heather!"

"And handcuffed her ankles..."

"That is ENOUGH, Heather!" Crane boomed.

Heather stared at him for a long moment, "I'm finished."

In what seemed like one motion, she leapt to her feet and raced to the door only to find it locked. She spun on her heel to face Crane. "Let me out."

"Heather..." Crane said taking a step closer to her.

"LET ME OUT!" she screamed, grabbing the door knob and jerking and pounding fiercely on the door. Crane rushed over to her and bodily pulled her away from her only exit. They both tumbled over the sofa and landed on the hard floor. Crane quickly rolled on top of her and pinned her down by the wrists. He was lean guy, but for being so thin he was surprisingly strong.

"Is that why you did it, Heather?" Crane asked sincerely, "Is that why you tried to kill yourself?"

A strangled sob escaped from Heather's throat as she struggled to squirm away from Crane's grasp.

"But, it was so long ago." he said holding on tight to her.

"Oh, what do you know about anything?" she cried out, finally wrenching herself free.

Crane sat up, his back against the wall. He let his head fall back against it with a light thud, his breathing shallow and quick. He stayed that way from a long time as though he were trying to decide something.

All of the sudden, he stood and shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his sweater up over his head. Heatehr felt a sudden bolt of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. What was he doing? He walked toward her, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt. He knelt down in front of her and held out his arms, palms up. With slight hesitation, Heather tore her gaze from his eyes and looked down at his arms. Crisscrossing up his wrists and forearms and tracing along the small blue veins were several white, winding scars. Heather couldn't stop her sharp intake of breath anymore than she could keep her hand flying up to cover her mouth. She suddenly felt as though she and Crane were linked. That's what it was about him. They were kindred. Without even realizing what she was doing, she flew at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. She just needed to hold him for some reason. His body immediately tensed, but it wasn't long before he was wrapping his own arms around her shuddering body. She had needed to hold him, but it felt ten times better when he held her. She felt good in his arms. In his arms she was warm. In his arms she was safe. In his arms, for once...she was okay.

Suddenly, Crane pulled away from her and stood. He went over to his desk and mumbled something into his phone with Heather just staring at him. A moment later, that round little Dr. Mildred entered with a key. She looked from Crane to him and back to Crane again.

"Dr. Mildred will escort you back to your room." he said.

A fresh batch of tears built up behind Heather's eyes as Dr. Mildred offered her a hand to help her to her feet. He led her to the door where she paused and gave Crane a final look before walking through it.

Dr. Mildred seemed like a very nercous creature. His little pug eyes kept darting from side to side as they made their way down the corridor to her cell. He seemed almost uncomfortable in her presence, but then she figured him the type to be uncomfortable in all women's presence.

He let her into her room and then paused as if to say something. But then he decided against it and closed the metal door, leaving Heather all alone once more. Normally, she was fine being by herself, but she hadn't felt this vulnerable in a really long time. Seh curled herself up on her cot and cried until she finally passed out.


	6. Chapter Five: Crane

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay…but I started to question my take on Jonathan's character, but after watching the movie again and further inspection, I now feel comfortable to proceed. Please let me know what you think of this! Please, please, please!

**Chapter: Crane**

Jonathan stared at the image of Heather on his video monitor. She looked tired and rundown. No doubt she would spend the entire night beating herself up emotionally. The complexity of her thoughts and mindset only continued to grow more and more intriguing as he continued to study her. When he had brought up her brother at their session earlier, she seemed to become disoriented. A barrage of emotions had flooded behind those pretty green eyes of hers. There had been different variables of anger, hatred, sadness, humiliation, anxiety, pain, despair, and even compassion…but no fear. Through all that, everything that he was discovering about her, she still showed him no signs of being afraid. He had sent her into a deeper bout of depression than he had originally intended, but at least he had managed to break her down in some fashion. The only problem was, it was a fashion that she had already been broken in before. It was at that moment, as he watched her pace back and forth in her room that he decided on his next course of action.

He stepped around to the back of his desk and picked up his phone, punching in three numbers without even needing to think about them. "Stanly? How soon can a fresh batch be ready?" he asked.

It was time to act. He needed to cleanse himself of this cursed infatuation…connection…whatever you wanted to call it…that it he felt for Heather. Yes, whatever it was, it was a weakness and he needed to be rid of it and the only way he could foresee that happening was to get her to open up and show him what frightened her. He spent the rest of the evening giddy as a school boy at the knowledge that first thing in the morning, he would be dosing her with his materialized fear. He longed to see her scream and cower away from him and claw at the walls in desperate attempt to escape him. He again turned his attention to the video monitor and walked over to it. He traced his thumb over her image on the screen and admired the way the Arkham scrubs hung low around her hips. He didn't like the affect that she had on him. Attraction was a dangerous thing in all forms. He was attracted to her body and he was attracted to her mind; her strength of mind. The sooner he could free himself of her the better. He walked away from the monitor, uttering a sigh of disgust at himself.

He flipped the switch under his desk and the video screen disappeared behind the wall as he turned off the lights and left the office, closing and locking the door behind him. He only had to wait the night. When morning came, all of his problems would be resolved.

He couldn't sleep that night, the anticipation was so great. He was tormented by visions of Heather either cowering away from him, her face contorted in a terrified scream, or he envisioned her on her back, her lean body squirming and writhing beneath his touch from pleasure instead of fear. He imagined she would cling to him, dig her fingers into his back muscles, bite down on his shoulder…Jonathan shook himself out of that line of thinking and undressed for bed. Heather Herst was a dangerous distraction, nothing more. He took comfort in the fact that she would be dealt with in a matter of hours. With that thought in his mind, he fell asleep.

Jonathan Crane came into work two hours early the next morning, it was still dark out, even for Gotham City. He had simply been unable to remain in bed for another second. When he arrived, he telephoned Stanly Mildred, but he hadn't arrived yet. Jonathan was what would best be described as jittery as he moved about his office, searching for busy work. He was growing impatient. He wanted Mildred there with his toxin and he wanted him there now. He flicked on the screen in the wall to see Heather. She was sleeping soundly on her cot, her chest rising up and down in a slow steady rhythm. Jonathan's head unconsciously tilted to the side as he looked at her image. She looked so innocent like that; so at peace. He lost himself in the trance of watching her there; of watching her breathing, sleeping, dreaming.

There was a knock on the door immediately followed by its opening. Mildred came toddling in carrying a small vile of white powdery substance. Jonathan felt himself smile at Mildred as he walked, a little too quickly, over to greet him at the door. Jonathan snatched the vile from his hand and held it up as though he were examining a precious stone. "Fetch her for me, would you?" he said. "And, Stanly, be ready outside with the antidote."

Mildred nodded and wiped at his sweaty face with a handkerchief before letting himself back out of the office and heading down the stairs. Jackson waited and watched the screen. Somewhere between seven and ten minutes later, Simon appeared in Heather's room. He shook her awake and then dragged her out of her bed. Jonathan felt a surge of anger flare up in the pit of his stomach at Simon for having dared to lay his hands on her. Then he watched his fiery little Heather draw a leg back and kick Simon in the head and he felt himself smile. Hal appeared onscreen as well and it took the both of them to drag her out of the cell. With a shake of his head, Jonathan tucked the container of powder into his jacket pocket and walked through the door, picking up his briefcase as he went.

The walk to the interview room he had had Heather put in seemed to take forever. His stomach was doing flip-flops the whole way and he honestly couldn't remember having ever felt this way in his entire existence. When he reached the door, the nervous excitement had built up to such a level he could barely contain himself. His hand shook as he pushed the door open.

Heather sat at the table, her hair wild and hanging in her face. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looked up as he opened the door and he saw that there was a little drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. His shoulders tensed up immediately.

"What happened?" he asked, gesturing to his own lips to ask her about hers.

"Your fella, Simon, slapped me in the mouth." She said.

"I'll take care of it." Jonathan said, setting his briefcase down on the table.

"Don't bother." Heather said, "I deserved it. I kicked the guy in the face."

"Well, I'm almost certain _he _deserved _that_." Jonathan said with a grin.

"So, what now, doc? What about my sordid past do you want to learn today?" Heather quipped, "You wanna know if I ever gave my cousin a blow job?"

"Don't be silly, Heather." Jonathan said, "You don't have any cousins."

"Why am I here?" Heather demanded.

"Because, Heather, I'm trying to help you. But in order to do that, we need to talk about you problems."

"My problems? You wanna know about my problems? Here ya go, they're nothing that a bottle of Jack and a handful of sleeping pills couldn't easily take care of."

"Why do you want to kill yourself?"

"Because, okay! My life is like one long train ride on the way to hell, so I just thought I'd shorten the trip."

"What are you afraid of?"

"No. No, I don't want to talk about me today? Let's talk about you and why those scars are on your wrists."

"We're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk about what frightens you."

"What did you use? Personally, you strike me as a straight razor type a guy. You know, like the ones barbers use to give a close shave."

"What are you scared of?"

"The color pink."

"Damn it, Heather, just tell me what scares you!" Jonathan screamed, slamming a fist down on the table.

Heather let out a low whistle, "Whoa there, doc. Temper, temper."

Jonathan took a moment to look himself over. His hands were trembling. Why did he let her get to him so much? Well, it was time for it all to end. He took a long deep intake of breath and looked up at Heather.

"Heather, I'd like to show you something." He said, reaching into his brief case and wrapping his fingers around the coarse material of his modified gas mask. "This is my mask."

Heather narrowed her eyes as she tried to get a better look at the mask as Jonathan withdrew it from his case. He removed his glasses from his nose, setting them on the table as he slipped the mask over his head, making sure that the gas mask was securely over his nose and mouth. He straightened it on his head and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers closing over the vile.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Heather chuckled, "That they've locked up the wrong person."

"Ah." Jonathan said, feeling almost giddy. He pulled the vile from his pocket, popping the top off as he went, and then flung its contents in her face.

Heather flew back out of her chair as soon as the powder hit her face. Coughing and hacking, she slammed back against the far wall grasping her throat with both hands. She dropped to her knees in the corner of the room and struggled to catch her breath. As the haze of the powdered hallucinogen cleared, she looked up at him, her eyes widening to the size of small plates.

"What's wrong, sweet little girl? No witty come back? What's the matter?" Jonathan said, his voice transformed into a menacing growl as he stepped around to table to walk toward her, "Cat got your tongue?"

But, much to Jonathan's dismay, she did not claw at the walls or tear up. She did scream or cry out or cower away and beg for someone to save her. No. She did none of those things. What she did do was much, much more perplexing than anything she had done so far. She laughed. Her laughter rang out and bounced off the walls of the room and it was Jonathan who cowered and backed away a few steps from her. Then her laughter seized as abruptly as it had begun.

"Are you the devil?" she asked, tears suddenly flowing from her eyes, "Have you come for my soul?"

She laughed again and Jonathan flattened himself back against the wall just beside to door. Heather held her arms out to him from her position on the floor.

"Take me away, devil!" she cried, "I'm ready!"

Jonathan burst from the room and ripped the mask from his face, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Dr. Mildred stood there staring at him, a confused expression on his round pudgy face. Jonathan grabbed with both hands him by the lapel of his lab coat, jerked him forward and then slammed him back against the far wall.

"What was wrong with that toxin?" he snarled.

"N-nothing!" Mildred stumbled, "You…you said you didn't want there to be any error, so it was the proven formula. I…I…I…didn't even kick up the ammonium in that one."

With one final harsh shove, Jonathan released him. "Give her the antidote." He commanded, "And get me my glasses."

**Author's Note: **Cannot believe I did that! Thank you Tigger-180 for pointing that out and I have corrected the error. I am working on these two stories simultaneously and sometimes the fingers are on autopilot. Thanks again...(blush) that was pretty embarrassing. :)


	7. Chapter Six: Heather

**Author's Note: **Here's the next chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm glad you're enjoying my story. Be sure to let me know what you think of this chapter too!

**Chapter Six: Heather**

Heather woke up on her cot with what felt like the worst hangover of her entire life. She had scattered memories of a meeting with Dr. Crane and of him getting upset with her...the rest seemed almost like a tame nightmare. Tame, at least, compared to her usual nightmares. The walls had been bending in toward her and...Satan or...someone had been standing in front of her. There had been maggots on his face and worms coming out of his mouth and nose, and his eyes were a terrible glowing yellow. He had spoken to her, but she couldn't quite remember what it was that he had said.

She struggled to sit up, but her head was swimming and her entire body ached. She felt as though she had just gone on a three day bender and then run a marathon. It was not pleasant. She climbed to her feet, wobbling back and forth, nearly falling but catching herself against the soft wall. She clasped a hand over her head and struggled to clear her vision. What messed up medication had Crane put her on? Her world was swimming. She stumbled to the door and, keeping one hand to her head, she pounded on the door with her other fist.

"Hello?" she called, though her voice sounded very far away even in her own head, "Could I get some Aspirin, please?"

After about three more minutes of continuous pounding, the heavy metal door gave a loud clank and Heather scrambled back away from it to give it room to swing open. Sadly, she was in no shape to scramble and went tumbling backwards, landing on her backside on the cushy floor with a bounce. When the door opened, Dr. Mildred came toddling in, concern covering his round red face.

"How are we feeling today, Ms. Herst?" he asked.

"It's Heather," she answered, smacking her lips together in attempt to get some saliva flowing through her dry mouth, "and I feel lousy. What did Crane spike my drink with?"

Mildred gave a hearty chuckle. "Nothing, my dear," He said, "So, you're not feeling well, then?"

"That's one way of putting it." Heather said, propping her elbows up on her knees and looking up at the robust doctor.

"Well, then," he said, "perhaps I could walk you to breakfast and you could tell me what's wrong?"

"Breakfast? How long have I been asleep? Did I have an early session with Dr. Crane?" Heather said, wanting badly to know if she had dreamed the whole thing or if it had actually happened.

"Well, actually, we were a tad worried about you yesterday. You had a brief session with Dr. Crane yesterday morning, but ended it rather abruptly saying that you weren't feeling well. You slept most of the rest of the day."

"I think I may have had a bad dream." she said.

"A nightmare?"

"No." Heather said quickly, "This was nothing close to what my nightmares are like. It was a bad dream, nothing more."

"Hmm." Mildred said, trying his best not to sound too interested. "Well, let's get you something to eat and talk about why you're not feeling so good."

"You mean other than the fact that I'm in here?" Heather smirked, staggering to her feet.

Mildred reached out a hand to help steady her. "Obviously," he said with what he apparently thought to be a good natured smile. To tell the truth, it was a little creepy.

Mildred escorted her to the cafeteria where she had a breakfast of runny eggs, soggy bacon, and orange juice that was heavy on the pulp. As she ate, she told him what was bothering her most; about her headache, fatigue, slowed alertness, and how her equilibrium seemed to be off. He listened politely, nodded when he deemed it appropriate, and took diligent notes. She wondered briefly why he was taking such detailed notes over what was probably no more than a common cold and lack of sleep, but then it occurred to her that he was a doctor and taking notes was what he did. She didn't give it another thought.

"Will I be seeing Dr. Crane, today?" she asked.

"Yes." Mildred answered without looking up from his notepad, "You'll have a session later this afternoon."

"Oh." Heather said, "All right."

"Now, as for your crumby feeling. Probably just a cold. I'll see if I can't rustle up some meds for you." He said.

Heather smiled a small sad smile at him, "Unless it's a lethal dose, doc, I ain't interested."

Mildred didn't know what to say to that, so he just chuckled and treated it as a light hearted joke. Heather decided that he was a decent little fellow. He didn't really fit in at Arkham.

After breakfast, Dr. Mildred walked her back to her cell and left her there, promising to return with some Advil and orange juice for Vitamin C. She was antsy and pacing back and forth when the room started to spin again. On trembling legs, she made her way over to her cot and collapsed onto it. Her head still swimming, she curled into the fetal position and closed her eyes.

She winced and woke up when the door clanked open with a resounding bang. She handn't even realized that she had fallen asleep. When she managed to force her eyes open, she saw Dr. Crane entering the room. In one hand he carried a small clear plastic cup containing two small brown tablets and in the other hand was a carton of juice.

"So, I heard we're feeling a little under the weather." He said, his voice so crisp and clear.

The sudden image of her dream's maggot infested face flashed before her eyes as he spoke, causing her to draw a sudden intake of breath. She blinked and the image disappeared and all she saw was Dr. Crane. She rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to steady her equilibrium, then smiled brightly up at Dr. Crane.

"Yeah," she said, "you gonna make me feel better, doc?"

He didn't answer. He offered her the pills and juice and she took them without a word. She was pretty much willing to do anything to ease her throbbing head by that point. Dr. Crane seemed tense. She may have been a bit fuzzy in the head at the moment, but she could still pick up on that. She had a weird feeling in her stomach. Like he had slipped her something and was scared that that was what was making her sick.

"So," she said, trying to play off his tension, "What'd you dose me with, doc?"

"Advil." Crane said without missing a beat.

"I mean yesterday." Heather said.

Crane cocked a single eyebrow, "I'm not sure to what you're referring, Heather. Did an orderly give you some medication, because you've not been authorized for any?"

Heather had a sudden feeling of unease that stirred deep in her stomach, and it was from a lot more than just being sick. It almost felt as though she and the good Dr. Crane were playing a game of chess. A dangerous game in which he always seemed to be one step ahead of her. Perhaps it was time for her to switch tactics.

"Shall we?" Crane said, gesturing grandly to the door, indicating that she should walk through ahead of him.

Heather eyed him for another moment more before stepping through the doorway. She was not in any particular hurry to turn her back on Dr. Crane, so she stepped through with her side to him, making certain to keep him in her peripheral vision at all times. He joined her and they walked up the corridor to his office side by side. Crane walked straight and tall with perfect posture, his hands clasped as ever behind his back. Heather shuffled along at his side with her shoulders hunched forward and her arms wrapped protectively across her chest. When they reached his office, Heather moved immediately to sit on the couch, craning her neck so that she could keep him in her sights.

"I understand you had a bad dream last night." Crane said as he shut his office door and moved around behind his desk.

Heather watched him take his seat before speaking, "I don't want to talk about my dream."

"Why not?" Crane countered, a hint of a grin at her stubbornness on his lips.

"Because, today," Heather said, narrowing her eyes in a calculating manner, "I want to talk about you."

"About me?" Crane chuckled.

"About those scars on your wrists." Heather mimicked the very words he had said to her.

"There's nothing there to talk about, Heather." Crane said, though his smile faltered slightly, "I've worked through my problems. Now, I'd like to help you work through yours."

"Come on, doc!" Heather exclaimed standing up, "Play the gentle psychiatrist! Try to relate to me on some other plane! You know, appeal to my more fragile and sensitive side."

"Sit down, Ms. Herst." Crane commanded.

"Heather." she corrected him.

"Sit down."

"No."

"I said sit down!" Crane was now on his feet as well.

"Make me!" Heather screamed.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Crane was around his desk and descending on her. He didn't seem the type to resort to physical violence, which meant that she had pushed his buttons pretty far. Heather laughed madly and tauntingly as she scrambled around behind the couch out of his reach. In the mental chess game she envisioned in her mind, she couldn't help but feel that she had just taken one of his knights. He reached for her, but she managed to just duck out of his grasp. She could hear her own laughter echoing throughout the room.

With one final and rewarding effort, Dr. Crane reached out and caught Heather by the elbow. He spun her to him, clasping his hands fiercely onto her upper arms. But when he spun her, it was with such force that they toppled over the top of the couch and onto the cushions with Crane landing on top. Heather writhed underneath him and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. Things didn't seem so funny anymore.

She tried to swing at him, but Crane caught her wrist and pinned it above her head, following suit with her other hand. She looked up at him. His blue eyes looked cold as ice behind his glasses and his lower lip was jutted out in a kind of frustrated pout. Heather felt her body go limp as a sudden urge overcame her. Without even realizing what she was doing, she tilted her head up and kissed him.

**Author's Note: **That's all for now. Tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter Eight: Crane

**Author's Note: **So sorry for the long delat, but thanks to everyone for your reviews and patience. I'm really trying, but finals are this week. It'll be better when I'm out for winter break. Anyhoo, here's the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy it! Be sure to let me know!

**Chapter Seven: Crane**

It was like an electric shock surged through his body as Jonathan hastily scrambled back away from where Heather lay on his couch. He sprang to his feet and backed up until he was pressed completely flat against the wall. He stared at Heather, whose eyes were wide like a deer's and mirrored his own surprise at what had just occurred. He was mentally fighting his physical reaction to the feeling of having her body against his own and her lips…

"Dr. Crane…" Heather started.

"No." Jonathan said.

"But I wanted to…"

"Now is not the best time for you to be speaking."

"But, if I don't speak I can't apologize."

"For?"

"For what I've just done. I don't know why I did it. I…"

"Ms. Herst," the coldness in his tone surprised even him, "leave."

"But Dr. Crane…"

"Leave now."

"Someone has to take me back to my cell…"

"Just go."

Heather audibly swallowed before slowly sitting up, putting her feet on the floor, and standing up. She then walked out of the office, very cautiously, keeping her eyes locked on him as though she thought that he would suddenly leap out and attack her. Even then she didn't seem afraid, just…alert. As soon as she was through the door, Jonathan released a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. The tension drained out of the office as soon as she was gone, but he could feel it creeping into his shoulders. He pulled his glasses from his nose and slung them onto his desk before crushing the bridge of his nose between both hands. What the hell had just happened? Had she really just kissed him? The fire that was burning between his legs told him that it had really just happened?

He squeezed his eyes closed as tight as he could and Heather's face immediately came flooding into his mind. His eyes shot open and, in a fury, he grabbed a paperweight from his desk and flung it across the room. He did not want her image stuck in his head! He did not want to still be able to smell her scent in his office! He did not want the feeling of her lips to still be lingering on his own! He plopped down in his chair and tried to retrace the steps and figure out exactly how that entire scenario had just occurred. That girl! That girl knew how to push his buttons like no one he had ever met before! How had she developed that talent? How could she just read through him to see what would get to him? Nobody could do that. He was above that sort of thing. A fresh wave of anger surged through him and he jolted out of his seat with such a force that it flew backward into the wall. That was when a whole new barrage of questions overtook him.

Why had she kissed him? What had made her want to do that? Perhaps that's what she going to explain before he threw her out of his office. His hands went involuntarily into his hair, his fingers massaging his scalp as he tried to slow his mind to the rate of coherent thoughts. What was that feeling that had stirred in his stomach the moment her lips had touched his? It was warm and painful and pleasant all at the same time. Had it been desire? If he could just figure this girl out, would it make everything better? Would it make all these hateful feelings of lust and want go away?

Maybe he should just take her. Just march down to her cell, throw her down on her own cot and take what it was that his body so obviously wanted.

No!

No he couldn't give in to something a weakening as the desires of the flesh. He was above that. He was stronger than most men. He could control his baser impulses. But her lips…her lips had been so incredibly soft…and her skin looked so smooth…like milk. Just thinking about it made him want to touch her. He struggled to swallow the lump that had just sprung up in his throat as he fought to suppress the image of her splayed out on his sofa. Little beads of sweat had started to form on his forehead and slide down into his eyes, stinging them and causing him to blink furiously. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes and looked over at his office wall. With a shuddering breath he reached beneath his desk for the familiar little button and a few seconds later, the flat screen appeared before him. The screen flickered on at just the right moment for him to witness Simon shove Heather into her room and shut the door behind him. Heather was staring at him with narrowed eyes, and Jonathan could tell that she was pissed off. He watched Simon advance on her. Heather ducked out of the way just as the orderly reached for her, but he just chased her around the room.

Something snapped to attention inside of Jonathan and he realized just what was about to happen. Without thinking, he flew from the office and down the stairs at a dead sprint. He reached her door and peered in through the little window at the top of the door to see that Simon had Heather pinned by the throat to the wall with one hand while the other was reaching for his belt buckle. She was trying to kick at him, but he had worked his way in between her legs, so she had resigned to trying to claw at his face. But her struggling was visibly growing weaker and weaker at her lack of oxygen. Jonathan burst through the door, his ice blue eyes narrowed and focused on Simon, who flew back away from Heather. As soon as he had released her, Heather slid coughing down the wall to the floor.

"Dr. Crane, I…" Simon started.

"I don't want to hear it." Jonathan snapped, his eyes scanning over Heather's form. She had her knees pulled to her chest and was massaging her throat with one hand and fighting to keep her eyes open. He turned back to Simon. "

"Dr. Crane, I can explain." Simon said.

"I'm really not interested." Jonathan said, taking his trademark stance, shoulders squared, back straight, hands clasped together behind him, "The asylum will no longer be requiring your services, sir. You may take the time to gather your belongings, then vacate the premises immediately."

Simon looked from him to Heather, then back again before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room in a huff. As soon as Simon was gone, Jonathan turned and went to Heather, kneeling down by her side. "Are you all right, Heather?" he asked.

"So, my knight has returned, huh?" she said, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

"You're in my care. I can't very well sit back and let anything happen to you." Jonathan defended his actions.

"Doc," Heather said, looking up at him with those big shining pretty eyes of hers, "you ain't wearin' your glasses."

"What?" Jonathan blinked. The observation caught him off guard and he realized that he had rushed out of the office so quickly that he hadn't even thought about his glasses which were still lying safely on his desk. Again, this little scrap of a girl had managed to cause him to start coming undone.

"Your glasses. You're not wearin' them." Heather repeated.

"My eyes felt strained.

"You're sweating…like you been runnin'."

Her eyes searched his face, looking for answers. Then, her gaze dropped to the floor, her eyes darting back and forth, from side to side. He could almost hear her mind putting the pieces of the puzzle together. All at once, she looked back up at him. "Wait! Did you know what was going on in here?"

"If you're certain that you're all right, Ms. Herst, I have some work to attend to." Jonathan said quickly, getting to his feet.

"No, I am not certain that I'm all right and DON'T call me Ms. Herst!" Heather screamed, standing up as well. "My name is Heather."

"I'll have the physician come in to make sure that Simon didn't do any permanent damage."

"God, that's not what I'm talking about. I've dealt with pricks like your orderly my entire life. I can handle it." Heather said.

"Then I'm not sure what you mean." Jonathan said, more tension creeping up the back of his neck as he looked at her. She was staring at him with such intensity and fire, he couldn't help notice how her nose had scrunched up in this adorable way. He shook the thought away as soon as it entered his head.

"Can you see me?" she asked.

"Of course I can, Heather."

"Not right now, you jackass." Heather hissed, "Can you see me when you're in your office? Doc, are you spying on me?"

"Now you're being paranoid." Jonathan said calmly. Inside, he was amazed at how clever this girl was. "Excuse me." He said and left the room before she had the chance to fire out another accusation.

He hurried back up to his office and immediately went to his desk and slid his glasses back onto his nose. He looked over at the television screen which he had never turned off when he ran out of the office to get to Heather. Heather was standing in the center of her room staring directly into the camera. He felt like she was staring straight at him. There scowl on her face melted into the brightest smile he had ever seen as she held up one arm and flipped him off.

**Author's Note: **Don't forget to tell me what you thought!


	9. Chapter Eight: Heather

**Chapter Eight: Heather**

Heather couldn't believe it when he had come barging into the room and rescued her. She had been so overtaken with damsel in distress and white knight syndrome that she hadn't seen the clear picture right away. She was slipping. But, it hadn't taken her too long after that to put the pieces together. The bastard was watching her. He was sitting up there in his office all high and mighty spying on her like some kind of a fucking pervert. After he left, it hadn't taken her long to find the camera. They had done a pretty good job of hiding it, but once she was looking for it, she knew all the best vantage points in the room were the places to check. That was when she had noticed the small reflection of light in the upper corner at the front of the room. Who the hell did he think he was watching her like that? Well, whatever it was that he thought that he was going to get out of it, he was wrong. Now that she knew about it, she had the upper hand.

Her eyes once again turned to the corner of the room where she had discovered the camera. She may have had the advantage now that she knew that it was there, but that didn't stop her from suddenly feeling vulnerable and very exposed. She wished at that moment that she had had something, anything, with which she could use to dig the camera out from behind the layers and layers of padding and smash it to smithereens. That thought sounded more appealing than even slitting her wrists and that was saying something.

In the back of her mind somewhere, a little voice screamed at her to not show that she was feeling susceptible. Her instincts were telling her to cross her arms over her chest and hug herself tightly, cover up as much of herself as she could but in desperation to look strong, she chose the opposite pose, propping both hands on her hips and practically jutting her chest out in likeness of a peacock, showing her entire body to the lens.

Heather wondered if the good doctor was watching at that very moment. A sick thought suddenly oozed into her mind like a slug, trailing nasty slimy thoughts in its wake. Scott used to watch her. When she was a little a girl, she would be playing out in the front yard and he would sit up on the front porch with all of his buddies, smoking pot and watching her. His pretty little princess he used to call her. Thinking of it now made her want to vomit. She was overcome with the sickening feeling of Scott touching her. Once again, she could feel the thin fishing line biting into her wrists and the cold metal clasped around her ankles. She could feel her brother's hands on her, all over her. It was like a slimy sticky film that covered her entire body. Unconsciously, she brought both hands up and began to rub hard at her skin, trying in vain to wipe the feeling off of her. Her fingers then twisted into claws and she was soon scratching and ripping at her flesh, desperate to rid herself of her brother's touch…his scent…his taste. Screaming through clenched teeth, she yanked at her hair and tore at her skin, but he was everywhere. Just as he had done when she was a child, he had completely taken over. She was powerless against him.

Her physical sense had gone completely numb to everything but the feeling of reliving her brother's violation of her. She wanted to feel something else, needed to feel something else. She continued to dig and to claw at her skin, her nails drawing blood from the soft flesh of her forearms. She didn't even hear the clang of her metal door swinging open. Two arms wrapped around her from behind and pried her own hands away from the wounds she was inflicting on herself. She struggled against the embrace, but soon found herself being wrestled to the ground. It wasn't long until she was laid out flat on her stomach, her arms and legs pinned down by the body of her assailant. She couldn't see him, but her eye caught sight of one of the hands that held tight to her own and the wrist of that hand were a dozen white scars. It was Crane.

The door to her room stood open from where he had entered without her notice, and a moment later, Dr. Mildred came waddling in, syringe in hand. On instinct, Heather began to struggle even harder against Crane's body weight, but he held her steady. Mildred knelt down beside them and used one hand to pin her head to the floor and hold her steady, then she felt the sharp prick of the needle enter her neck. Her body stilled and within a minute, her vision blurred then went completely dark.

When Heather awoke some hours later, she found herself lying on Dr. Crane's comfortable leather sofa, the pink tinted sunlight of dusk pouring in through the window. Crane was sitting at his desk, shuffling through a stack of papers.

"Hello, Heather." He said, without looking up.

"Doc." She acknowledged.

"How are we feeling?" he asked, his gaze still remaining firmly trained on her papers.

"I think the term is groggy." Heather answered.

Crane simply nodded and paused in his shuffling to write something on a legal pad that was sitting off to the side, then went right back to shuffling.

"I can't stay here anymore," Heather spewed suddenly, "You have to let me go!"

Crane finally looked at her. "Let you go? Heather, you just tried to use your fingernails to peel you skin off. Don't you think that that constitutes as a problem?"

Heather wanted to throw his paperweight at him. Couldn't he see that being in this place was bringing up things in her memory that she could not deal with? These were things that she had spent so much time and energy in tucking down below the surface, that their rising was hurting her. She couldn't bear it; it made her skin crawl. She wanted out of this cold, unfeeling place. She wanted to be somewhere that she could hear the sea crashing ashore and be able to feel the warmth of the sun onto her face. She wanted to be standing on a cliff where she could marvel at the vastness of the ocean and how small she really was. Then, when she had absorbed all the beauty she could, she would hurl herself onto the unforgiving rocks below. She longed to feel the breaking of her bones on the hard surface as she smashed into them. And with her dying breath, at last, she would know peace.

She looked at Dr. Crane, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Could he not see that that was what she needed? Could he not understand that that was the only answer for her? No. Of course he couldn't. All anyone ever saw was a young pretty girl with supposedly her whole life ahead of her, with everything in the world to live for. They didn't see the pain that she hid. They didn't see the turmoil that was just underneath the outside of her skin. She looked at Crane, sitting there, a calculatingly concerned expression on his handsome face and she so desperately wanted to believe that maybe he was different from all the rest of them. She wanted him to see that death was her only way to escape the demons in her head. She wanted to trust him. But he had been watching her. He had been staring at her just like _Scott _had used to do.

"Why have you been watching me?" she asked, forcing all the vulnerability back down her throat to her stomach. It was thick and bitter and vile as she physically felt it sliding back down.

"For your protection." Crane said, and Heather had to admire his lying skills.

She almost believed him. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want to, Heather. But nothing you can say will make me regret my decision to monitor your room. First, you were attacked. Then, you decided to try and claw your way to your veins."

"It's an invasion of my privacy." She said.

"You're considered to be a danger to yourself, therefore the invasion of privacy is completely warranted." Crane countered.

Heather hated him for being so calm and collected. Why couldn't he show her some emotion like before? Even a temper tantrum would be more welcome than this smooth soothing tone. She was feeling drained and she needed for him to have energy for her to feed off of.

She dropped her head into her hands and tugged at her hair. She turned her face away from him, not wanting to show him the onslaught of tears that she was no longer able to hold in. She hated being weak. She hated other people seeing that she was weak even more. And for some reason, she especially didn't want for Dr. Crane to see her at what was probably her weakest moment in a long time.

"Heather, look at me." He said as if reading her mind.

Heather didn't respond.

"Heather, I said look at me." He repeated.

She just shook her head, but she shook it with such vehemence that Crane undoubtedly got the message that she had no intention of looking up at him. He did receive this message as it were, and stood from his position behind the desk and came around to kneel before her. His hands captured her wrists and pulled them away from her face. Heather turned her face to the side and away from him, but Crane was too fast for her. He reached out and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at him, and as a last resort of defense, Heather squeezed her eyes shut. When she finally opened them, the expression on Crane's face surprised her. He seemed somewhat taken aback by the sight of her tearstained face.

Sure, she had cried in front of him before, but it had generally been in anger. Not this, this complete and total dissolution of strength. Surely, he had had patients break down on him before, why should she be so different?

Simple. Because she wanted to be.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for him to hold her. She wanted him to save her from herself; to be her salvation. She wanted Dr. Jonathan Crane to take her away from her wretched life.

"Dr. Crane," she said, her voice pleaded lower than a whisper, "take me away from here."


	10. Chapter Nine: Crane

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Finals, plays, and all that. But it's summer now, so I should have more time to work on this. Here's the latest installment so please let me know what you think.

**Chapter Nine: Crane**

Startled. Taken aback. Unprepared. Undone. Unhinged. There was no limit to the number of un-words that could be used to describe what it was that Jonathan was feeling at that particular moment, and yet none of them could quite do the feeling justice. Heather was staring at him with those large pretty green eyes, filled with such sadness and emptiness. Maybe if he did it, if he took her away from the asylum, he could ease some of that pain. No! What was he thinking? What he needed to do was get her out of his office and away from him. And he needed to do it right that second.

"Please." She said, barely above a whisper.

He focused sharply in on her at that moment. She looked so small and delicate and fragile. She was beautiful. He had thought that he had become immune to beauty, but something about Heather, despite the fact that she was never afraid, or maybe because of it, she seemed to have an irresistible draw. She was strong and feisty and weak and vulnerable all at the same time. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out and brushed a thick strand of strawberry hair behind her ear. She leaned into the touch, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of his hand. Her eyelids fluttered closed and he brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and watched as her full lips parted ever so slightly as she exhaled, seemingly taking comfort in his touch.

Her words kept replaying over and over in his head. "Take me away from here." Could he? Could he just…gather her up in his arms and take her away from the asylum? Away from the pain? What then? Take her to his apartment and keep her for himself? He shook the thought away and retracted his hand. Heather's eyes flew open at the loss of his warmth.

"I'm sorry," he cleared his throat, looking away from her confused eyes, "I forgot myself."

"Is that so bad?" she asked, tears still wet on her face.

"Worse that you know." Jonathan responded honestly.

He looked back up at her and could actually see her reconstructing the walls that had moments ago crumbled around her. Her liquid green eyes were suddenly hard as stone. He didn't want that stone to be there.

"Heather…" he began.

"Can I go back to my room, now?" She said, looking away from him.

"Are you going to hurt yourself again?" he asked.

"Oh, dad, you really do care!" She said, her sarcasm back at full force.

"Heather, of course I care."

"Wow. You even managed to say that with a straight face."

"Your health is very important to me."

"Spare me your sympathy."

"I'm your psychiatrist…"

"So you keep reminding me."

"Heather,"

"I want to go back to my room."  
"Let me speak."

"I want to go back to my room, now."

"Heather…"

"Let me out of here!" Heather screamed.

Jonathan stared at her completely silent, too stunned to speak. She had gone from weeping and practically begging for him to rescue her to shouting and demanding to be removed from his very presence. He didn't say another word. Simply walked over to his office door and let her out. He walked her back to her cell to make sure that she was not placed in any danger. He had fired Simon, but Hal was still very much around and unhappy at the dismissal of his friend.

He walked back to his office very slowly, letting his mind trace back to what had put him in this situation. Somehow, somewhere, his focus had shifted. His interest in Heather was no longer centered on her fear and the two of them had crossed the patient/doctor line a long time ago. This girl had walked through the door and flipped his world upside down. She had laughed at terror, but then, what could he do to her that had not already been done? She had reminded him that was a man, wakened urges in him that he had worked long and hard to suppress. She had asked comfort of him and offered herself to him for comfort, but he would deny himself that. She had revealed so much of herself to him and yet she had managed to remain a complete mystery. He could not read her as he could so many others.

He finally reached his office and took his seat behind his desk, rubbing a hand over his jaw as Heather's image floated through his mind. The fact that she was dominating his thoughts even now was enough to irritate him. He shoved both hands back through his hair and started to go for his scotch, but instead his finger traced the underside of his desk until it grazed the small button and his wall once again became filled with the moving image of Heather.

What right did she have to just show up in his life and make him question everything about himself?

She was sitting on her cot with her knees pulled up around her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Suddenly, she looked directly into the camera as though she knew that he had just started watching her again. A fierce look on her pretty face, she pushed herself up from the cot and walked to the middle of the room. Jonathan watched her tilt her head from one side to the other. She spun around, turning her back to the camera. She cast a glance over her shoulder with a wicked smile on her lips. When she looked away, her shirt slid up and over her head revealing too much bare skin. Jonathan's breath caught in the back of his throat and he nearly toppled backward out of his chair, his gaze trapped on the smooth milky planes of her back. Red hair danced teasingly against white skin as she once again cast a glance over her shoulder to the camera. His eyes traveled down the length of her spine and came to rest on the seductive curve of her hips as they gave a slight sway. Jonathan's pants suddenly felt tighter. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was so deafeningly loud, it was as though someone were banging on a set of base drums. He brought his hand to his face again and began chewing on his thumb as he stared at the television monitor. Heather wasn't doing anything particularly sensual or sexual, she was simply standing there as though she were displaying herself. His pulse was getting louder and louder by the second. He ripped his glasses from his face and covered his ears with his hands as if somehow it would contain the noise. Squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, he attempted to rid himself of her image, but once he closed his eyes he saw her lying beneath him, that vulnerability from earlier in her eyes once again, begging for him to take her. He reopened his eyes and Heather was still shirtless, only now she was leaning on one shoulder against the wall staring down at the floor. He could feel his pulse throbbing not only in his head but between his legs as well. She touched the joint where her neck met her shoulder and rubbed at what he could only assume was a tension knot. It was a simple motion, but somehow, everything she did seemed heightened by her exposed state. Jonathan felt his hand begin to reach for himself and stopped the action before it could begin. With an exasperated sigh, he pushed up from the desk and began pacing back and forth through the office. He looked once more at the screen, then, after a shuttering breath, he was out the door and thundering down the stairs.

The fast paced walk to her cell seemed to take him forever; his footsteps ringing through his ears as loudly as his heartbeat. When he finally arrived at her door, there was a group of orderlies gathered around the small window that looked in through the top of it. More than a few of them had their hands down the front of their pants. Jonathan smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket and squared his shoulders. In preparation, something occurred to him and he cursed himself under his breath. He had forgotten his glasses on his desk; that along with his disheveled hair and partial erection was going to be a hindrance to his intimidation. There was really nothing that he could do about it at this point though.

He cleared his throat noisily and the orderlies turned to see him standing there in his infamous stance, shoulders square, hands clasped behind his back, jaw clenched. He narrowed his eyes in disapproval and some of them even had the decency to look embarrassed and turn red. Pretty soon, without so much as a word from him, they had all scattered and were scampering away with their tails tucked firmly between their legs, a few tying up the front of their pants as they went. As soon as the audience had cleared, Jonathan took a slight pause to gather up his wits then burst through her cell door. Heather jumped slightly at the sudden noise, but then turned toward him with her hands on her hips. Her chin was tilted somewhat upward in defiance. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. He didn't want to, but he couldn't stop his eyes from taking in the view of her bare breasts as they were displayed before him. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he quickly composed himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He demanded. He leaned down and grabbed her shirt up from the floor then took her by the arm with his other hand. As soon as he touched her skin, the pounding in his head dissipated, but Jonathan would not allow himself to acknowledge that fact. "I must have missed the term 'exhibitionist' in your file."

"It's a recent development." Heather snapped. She wasn't even attempting to escape from his grasp.

"Do you know how many of my people I just had to chase away from your door?" he said, his grip tightening on her upper arm.

"What do I care?" Heather went on, "You always seem to show up just in time to save me anyway."

Jonathan released a frustrated breath and closed his eyes. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately; at least he had been since she showed up. Heather's hip pressed up against him and his eyelids shot open as he felt that twitch between his legs that was becoming all too familiar when she was around. She glanced down and then back up to meet his eyes.

"Looks like the orderlies weren't the only ones enjoying the show, huh, doc." She said.

Jonathan could feel himself clenching his jaw and squeezing her arm between his fingers so hard that he knew he would leave her bruised. He thrust her shirt up under her nose and watched her flinch as though she thought he were going to hit her. "Keep your clothes on." He seethed, his tone frighteningly calm even to his own ears.

She turned and pressed her breasts flat against his abdomen before laying her hand over his. The tips of her fingers brushed over his skin as she peeled the shirt from his hand and stepped back away from him. He released her arm; a red handprint lingering from where he had grasped her. It was almost as though their gazes were welded together as they broke eyes contact only long enough for her to slide the material on over her head. She tugged the hem down to the tops of her pants and smoothed both hands over her flat stomach, drawing the attention of Jonathan's eyes to her body. She then crossed her arms and his gaze followed her hands, lingering for just a moment too long on her breasts.

"Are you happy now?" she quipped.

"Nothing about this makes me happy." Jonathan said.

Her eyes darted once again down to his groin then back up to his eyes, "I beg to differ."

Jonathan had begun to tremble, he was so angry. Every fiber of his being was crying out for him to strangle her. Just grab her around the neck and choke the life out of her. He concentrated on slowing down his breathing and counting to ten in his head. It was an anger management technique that he had not had to use since his teens and it annoyed him that he had been reduced to it once again.

"What's the matter, doc?" Heather cooed, "You look a little tense."

No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than he reacted. Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them. He grabbed her by the shoulders, slammed her back into the wall, and pressed his mouth against hers.

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's so short, but it felt like the right place to end the chapter. Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter Ten: Heather

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Yes, I'm still alive… Anyways, here's the next chapter and I hope that you all enjoy it.

**Chapter Ten: Heather**

It hurt when Heather's back slammed against the hard stone wall, but she barely had time to register the pain because less than a second later, Crane's lips were against her own. The shock and stun wore off at about the same time that his tongue forced its way into her mouth and, without her bidding, her hands found their way into his hair. Crane's hands had settled on her hips and he kept pressing himself tighter and tighter against her body. She had to admit, she had not expected this, but Heather sure as hell wasn't complaining. He grabbed her right arm with his right hand and spun her so that her back was to him and pinned her once again to the wall, pressing the length of his body to her backside. Heather inhaled sharply as he captured her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. His hand traveled up her bare arm, over her shoulder and came to rest at her neck, the pad of his thumb massaging just behind her jaw. His other hand tangled itself in her hair and he used it to jerk her head to the side, giving his full access to her neck. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, sending shiver after shiver gliding down her spine.

Suddenly, he took hold of her and spun back around to face him. He jerked her away from the wall and backed her up toward the cot. When it caught her at the back of the knees, she tumbled down onto the thin mattress; Crane came down with her, landing perfectly between her legs. He kissed her lips and then once again attacked her neck. Heather thought that maybe she was in shock. It was steadily becoming more and more difficult for her to breathe. Was this really happening? Sure, she had been teasing him and tempting him in the blind hope that he would give in and admit that he was attracted to her, but now that it was actually happening, she didn't know quite what to make of it.

His fingertips slid down her hip beneath the material of her pants and her breath shuttered. In a moment of desperation for pure physical closeness, Heather shoved his jacket back away from his shoulders. Crane rocked up onto his knees and shrugged out of his blazer; then he jerked his tie loose and up over his head before hurling it across the room and kissing her again. He shoved her shirt up to her chest and began fluttering kisses over the soft flesh of her stomach. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back up to her face and kissed him again. She couldn't get enough of kissing him. He had an unbelievably strong kiss. He once again tangled his hand in her hair and jerked her head to the side and biting down on her neck. He seemed to have given himself over to complete and total reckless abandon. It was the sexiest thing Heather thought that she had ever seen, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to touch him; to feel his skin on her skin. She jerked at the material of his shirt, pulling the tails from the waist of his slacks. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her chin, then both of her cheeks, and finally turned his full attention once again to her mouth. Heather was suddenly terrified that she might lose herself in the sudden euphoria of his kiss. She had never felt such untainted pleasure in anything. There had to be something about to happen that would ruin the moment, and then, something occurred to her. There was something about the situation that just seemed slightly…off. Heather had a funny feeling in her stomach that she just couldn't shake. Something was there, creeping around in the back of her mind if she could only put her finger on what it was. As Crane moved down her neck, his mouth covering her collarbone, that's when it hit her. Heather's eyes locked onto the camera lens embedded in the corner of the wall. That's what was bothering her.

"Crane." She said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Doc, someone's watching."

"What?" Crane said, raising up for a minute.

"The camera," she breathed, "someone is looking at us. I can feel it." And she could. She could feel eyes on her like tiny hands roaming all over her skin. The bliss, the euphoria of the moment was gone. She unconsciously scooted so that more of her was hidden behind Crane's body, despite the fact that she was still fully clothed.

Crane cocked an eyebrow at her. "Don't be ridicu…" He stopped mid-word and his face went slack and paled drastically.

"What?" Heather asked.

"The monitor." He said, "I didn't turn off the monitor."

"Well, didn't you lock your office?"

"I can't remember."

"That's not like you." Heather said.

Mistake.

Crane was suddenly on his feet and glaring at her. "Do you think that any of this is like me?" He growled, hastily tucking his shirttails back into his pants. "Do you think I go around shoving my tongue down all of my patients' throats?"

Heather thought about the few other patients that she had happened to come across in the asylum. Big, burly men the lot of them. "I hope not." She said, trying desperately to shake that image from her head.

Crane fixed her with a pointed stare and she raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry." She said, climbing to her feet. She was apologizing to him, but her gaze went straight to the camera in the wall. "But someone's still watching."

"You're being paranoid." Crane snapped.

"Really?" Heather said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was letting her anger override the creepy feeling in the pit of stomach. Anger definitely felt better. "Was that in my file?"

Crane threw her a murderous look as he pulled on his suit jacket. "Maybe it's a recent development." He spat.

Heather bit down hard on her tongue to keep herself from saying something that she knew she would regret as Crane flung open the door and stormed out. She kicked into gear and was instantly following at his heels, pumping her legs as hard as she could to keep up with his quick pace. He didn't try to stop her.

They pretty much ran through the halls until they reached the stairs that led up to his office, which he then bounded up two at a time. Heather stumbled at least three times and when she reached the top, she slammed directly into Crane's back because he had come to a complete halt on the top step. Heather had to catch hold of the wall to keep from falling back down the stairs, while the blow barely even rocked Crane's balance. Heather stabled herself on her feet and then peered around Crane's shoulder in attempt to see what it was that he was staring at.

There was a flat screen monitor on the wall, but what really drew the eye was that there was a large crack fanning out across the screen from the upper right hand corner. On the floor in front of it was a large golden paperweight that Heather recognized from Crane's desk. The paperweight was still rocking. Whoever had thrown hadn't been gone for very long.

"Hey, doc?" Heather said.

"Yes, Heather." Crane said walking over to his desk to retrieve his glasses.

"Who…"

"I don't know."

"Oh. Okay then." Heather said, "Can I go home, now?"

"No." Crane said simply before turning and walking out of his office, pushing his glasses onto his nose as he went.

Heather stood there for another second, staring at the now still paperweight. The fact that someone had been standing there watching her and Dr. Crane getting it on made her more than just a little uncomfortable. Okay, so she had just exposed herself to Crane and half of his staff, but she had been trying to make a point and with the payoff she had received, who could really blame her. But what had just gone on in her room had been one of the few things that she would consider extremely personal and extremely private. The fact that someone had been watching them somehow cheapened it for her. And apparently, it was someone who had not enjoyed the show.

"Heather!" she heard Crane call from the bottom of the stairs.

She snapped herself out of it and turned to join him. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Crane surprised her by taking hold of her arm and leading her down the hallway, casting evil glares at anyone who stared at them for ever a beat too long. When they reached her cell, he shoved her through the door and leaned in, bracing himself with his hands against the doorframe.

"Wait here. Don't you dare leave this room with anyone who isn't me. I'll be back for you in twenty minutes." He said then turned to leave.

Heather stopped him, "Wait, you think I'm in danger?"

"I don't know." Crane said.

Heather smiled, "Awe, doc, are you worried about me?"

"Not now, Heather." He said.

"You not gonna answer my question?" she chimed. She was enjoying this way too much.

"Twenty minutes." He said and the door closed, leaving Heather smiling after him. Her eyes wandered up to the now useless camera lens and the smile faded. Who in the hell had been watching them? And who had it pissed off enough that they would smash the television?

**Author's Note: **I know, once again it's a really short chapter but sometimes I think that more is just more. Let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter Eleven: Crane

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews guys! You know how happy it makes me! Here's the next chapter. I know it's taken me a while, but I'm trying to be a good little author and update all of the stories that I'm working on. I appreciate you bearing with me. Well, enough of my blathering…on with the story!

**Chapter Eleven: Crane**

Jonathan stood in the center of his office, his eyes focused on the enormous crack that zigzagged through the screen of the expensive monitor on his wall. He rolled the heavy gold paperweight back and forth between both hands as he paced three steps in each direction. The gears in his mind clicked and turned as he tried to work the details; everything from where the trespasser stood in the office to what angle the paperweight had slammed into the screen. He stopped walking and leaned against the front of his desk, bracing himself on his hip. He adjusted his glasses and squinted at the screen, demanding silently that it reveal its secrets to him.

He leaned away from the desk and walked over to the monitor, tossing the paperweight up and down in one hand. With his free hand, he ran the tips of his fingers over the center of the crack. The bottom portion of the chink had sunken in further than the top, telling him that it had been struck from a low angle. He breathed in deeply through his nostrils and took a backwards step, seeing things clearly. He examined the paperweight, rubbing the pad of his thumb over its smooth surface. He licked his lips and returned the object to its proper place on his compulsively organized desk.

The question in his head was no longer who, but why. Why had this well mannered, seemingly passive man come into his office in the first place? What was it about seeing himself with Heather that had sent this man into such an uncontrolled fit of rage that he had felt the need to destroy? He wondered it Stanly knew himself. That was the only person it could have been. Short, frumpy, round little Dr. Mildred.

Jonathan smiled to himself. Amazing. The mind was an incredible force. Mildred had come into the office and been angered enough to hurl a solid metal object at his boss's expensive equipment. Odds were, he hadn't even realized what he had done until it had already happened. The thought that this man's mind had completely taken over his body was too beautiful for words! Jonathan felt it when his mouth twisted into a familiar shark's grin. He knew who had intruded into his office. Now, what was he going to do about it?

An idea came to him all of the sudden, wriggling around in his head like a worm. His shark smile widened. It would be his ultimate test study. A strong, healthy, intelligent mind to poke at and toy with; how far could he bend it before it broke? In a way, it would be his finest hour…until tomorrow when he moved on to the next subject.

With the thoughts of his oncoming experiment twisting through his brain, Jonathan rolled his shoulders back, clasped his hands behind him, and left the office. He walked in long confident strides, he walked quickly, he walked like a man with a purpose.

When he entered the lab that was located ever so conveniently in the basement of Arkham, Dr. Mildred was standing over a test tube, filled with bubbling bluish liquid. He looked more like a caricature, stooped over the desk, gazing through heavy protective lab goggles at the fizzling concoction brewing over the Bunsen burner. A quick scan of the premises let Jonathan know that they were in fact alone in the lab. Good. There would be no interruptions.

Jonathan cleared his throat, drawing his assistant's attention. Mildred glanced over at him, the tips of his bushy eyebrows just barely visibly over the top of the goggles. "Stanly, may I have a word?" Jonathan asked.

Mildred straightened, nodded, and peeled the goggles off of his round little head. A dark red indentation ran over his cheeks and forehead, leaving the impression of the mask still on his face. He toddled over to Jonathan, picking a clipboard up off the desk and scribbling some notes on it as he did so.

"Yes, Dr. Crane?" he said without looking away from his notes.

"Why, Stanly, did you enter my office while I wasn't present?"

Mildred looked up at that. "I didn't." he responded, his beady eyes widening at the accusation.

"Stanly, _you _are not a foolish man. Please do not treat meas though _I _am."

"Dr. Crane, I never went into your office."

"Well, I happen to know you did." Jonathan sneered, his tone smug, lips curling over teeth in a snarl. "And you busted a rather expensive piece of surveillance equipment."

"I did no such thing." He was becoming agitated.

"_Stop _insulting my intelligence."

"Doctor…"

Jonathan cut him off. "I know that you went into my office and that you saw me with Heather."

Mildred's mouth snapped closed, his spine straightened and his chin jutted upward. His face flushed and the tips of his ear turned bright red, almost glowing. He slapped the clipboard back down on the desk. Inside, Jonathan was dancing. Mildred's anger rose with just the mere mention of Heather's name. How many buttons would it take to send him over the edge once again?

Mildred tugged a worn out handkerchief from his lab coat pocket and wiped his sweaty forehead. "Please," his words spewed from his mouth vehemence and a deep undertone of loathing, "Yes, I know that you have your new little pet and yes, I find your treating her like your own personal toy disgusting and unprofessional…but it is not enough to make me vandalize your office."

"But it upsets you to the point of taking a tone with me." Jonathan said, a hint of a smirk, folding his hands together in front of him, dropping his shoulders just barely. He tried to manufacture an air of relaxation around himself. No anger. No resentment. No underlying threats of violence.

Flustered, Mildred rubbed a chubby hand over his red face. "Forgive me, Dr. Crane. I didn't mean…"

"Yes, you did."

Mildred looked away from Jonathan, "That girl is not here for your amusement, Dr. Crane."

"That _girl_ is here for whatever I deem her to be here for."

"You're her doctor."

"I've been running immoral fear experiments on the insane for over two years now. Ethics went out the window a long time ago."

"It isn't right."

"Did you really just say that?"

"Dr. Crane," Mildred said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out before he spoke again, "I don't want you to get personally involved with this patient. It can only end badly."

"Well, first of all," Jonathan said, fighting to keep his tone the smug, snide spoiled brat tone that he pulled off so well and not just slap Mildred across the face. He had hit a little too close to home. Jonathan was not ready to admit that he had put personal stock into Heather. He didn't want to admit to himself that there may have been more to the lure of her than a physical attraction. He was not ready to recognize their unanimity; their kindred souls. The fact that Mildred could already see that that was the path he was on his way down rubbed Jonathan entirely the wrong way. "what I do with my personal life is not yours to decide. Second of all, this has nothing to do with that, it has to do with your destruction of Arkham property."

"Do I have to say again that I did not do it?" Mildred pleaded.

"It's not necessary to. I won't believe you."

"So, this is what?" Mildred continued, trying to sound casual, waving the matter off. He picked up his clipboard and returned to making his copious notes. If nothing else, he was a stickler for details. "An informal reprimand? You'll call me into your office tomorrow to discuss my punishment for this alleged offense?"

"Wouldn't that be simple?" Jonathan said, moving in closer, slowly. A predator preparing to pounce.

"I'm sorry you think that I did this, Dr. Crane."

Something stirred in Jonathan's stomach. Excitement. Adrenaline. The anticipation of what was about to come. He was like hunter stalking his prey. He had always considered himself to be a cut above the rest; after all, he had been frighteningly intelligent since a very young age. He was a superior being and he knew it. But, now, he felt like a dominant species. The feeling was good. It was empowering. It was stimulating. It was even a little arousing, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought about throwing Heather up against that wall. Her small yelp of pain, and the thrill that had come with it. Dominance was almost a more powerful aphrodisiac than fear. Almost.

"Are you, Stanly?" Jonathan said, coming a little closer.

"Am I what?" Mildred said, looking up from where he was returning to his experiment. He had reached for his goggles.

"Are you sorry? I mean, really sorry, Stanly."

"Yes, Dr. Crane. It troubles me that you think me capable of what you're accusing me of."

"Not as troubled as you're going to be." Jonathan said.

Mildred started to turn around. "Wha…"

He never got to finish his question. Before he was fully turned around, Jonathan was on him. With lightening speed, he wrapped an arm around him from behind and punctured Mildred's soft neck with a syringe that he had been concealing in the palm of his hand for the entire conversation. Mildred let out a kind of gurgled squeal. Jonathan stroked his cheek and shushed in the man's ear. First, the large man's ankles wobbled, then his knees buckled and gave out. Soon, Dr. Stanly Mildred lay in a crumpled heap at Jonathan's feet.

**Author's Note: **Well, that's it for this one! Let me know what you think! Pretty please!


	13. Chapter Twelve: Heather

**Author's Note: **Thanks again for the reviews and your patience in waiting for me to update. I know, I'm slow. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Oh, and a friendly little reminder to let me know what you think about it!

**Chapter Twelve: Heather**

If she didn't stop pacing soon, Heather was going to wear a permanent groove into the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, it was the only thing that the confined space allowed. She chewed on her thumbnail as her mind worked, names of the people that she had met or had heard mentioned during her stay at the asylum swirling through her mind faster than water going down a drain. And Crane had just left her here; just abandoned her so he could go off and do God knows what while she sits here losing her mind because she can't put the freaking puzzle together. There had been someone else partaking in her and Crane's private moment, and that bothered her. She didn't like being gawked at. The last person to do it had been at the bar where she worked, and he had left feeling less like a man after she had a smashed a beer bottle between his legs. She wanted to know who had been watching on that camera. Of course, none of it would have happened it Crane hadn't been spying on her in the first place.

She heard the clanking of the door and turned to meet him as Crane came strolling through it, silently thanking God that he had finally returned. Maybe he had some answers. He didn't offer up any answers, though. He reached a hand out to her and she took one step toward him, where he instantly took hold of her upper arm. He lead her out of her cell and down through the hallway. There was not another soul in sight. No one. There was usually a least two or three orderlies lurking about the corridors, but now…she and Crane were completely alone. It was a little unnerving seeing the place so empty. It always had an underlying creepiness to it, but now it seemed deserted; like something from a horror movie. The haunted asylum. She kept waiting to hear the tortured screams of past patients who had had strange experiments performed on them.

She didn't even realize how close to the truth she was.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Crane didn't say anything. His face was a mask; totally void of any expression. Though, his eyes held some deep malice that she had seen a few times before, usually directed at her. They walked at a quick pace, practically a trot. It was hard work for Heather to keep up with his long strides. Every step they took, the sick feeling in her chest got a little bit heavier.

Finally, he steered her into a small white room. It was like a déjà vu from hell. She felt like she had been there before, but she couldn't quite place it. Like someone had taken something from her imagination and forced it into reality in vivid detail.Then, she spotted Dr. Mildred. He was sitting in a chair, if you could call what he was doing sitting. His upper body slumped over onto the table in front of him, his arms lay by his head, hands and fingers gave the appearance of relaxation. His legs were sprawled straight out in front of him as though he had been dragged into the room and carelessly dropped into the chair that he now occupied. He wasn't moving. Heather rushed to his side, bending at her waist and touching the round man's forehead.

"Is he okay?" she asked, looking up at Crane.

"For now." Was Crane's reply.

Heather straightened, her eyes boring into her psychiatrist's, "What happened to him?"

Crane inhaled deeply through his nose then let it out. He removed his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket on the inside of his jacket. He popped open a briefcase which was also sitting on the table and removed a small blue gas mask. He held it out in offering to Heather.

"Put this on." He said.

No. Said isn't the right word. He commanded.

Heather stared at thing as if she were afraid it would bite her. "Why do I need that?"

He repeated the order. "Put it on."

Heather shook her head with vehemently; setting her mouth in a tight line and giving him her best look of defiance.

Crane came toward her and Heather backed away from him until her back hit the wall. He secured the mask on her face himself, not gently, and then returned to the table. She wanted to know what in the hell was going on! She was sure that she would have a bruise on her face in a few hours he had grabbed her so hard. She started to walk over to him, but that was when he removed something else from the briefcase. It was another mask…but when he put it on, Heather flung herself back against the wall once more. It was the face from her dream!

Crane, now clad in the hideous mask, reached across the table and shook Dr. Mildred into consciousness. Heather moved forward, just as Mildred looked up and Crane burst some plastic container filled with a white powder in his associate's face. Mildred screamed and threw himself out of his chair.

"What's the matter Stanly?" Crane asked.

Heather watched as the short round man who had always seemed so kind cowered away from Crane in terror. She tried to speak, but her mouth seemed to refuse to form any words. So, she just stood there in some morbid fascination, watching the scene unfold before her.

Crane hopped up onto the table so that he was sitting directly in front of Mildred. "Amazing, isn't it?" he said, "The power of the mind. You know exactly who I am. You even know what I've done to you…with your own work, no less. But all of those rational thoughts simply flutter away in the presence of true terror."

Heather wasn't exactly sure who he was talking to anymore. At first, he had seemed to have been addressing Mildred. But as he went on, his voicehad takenon a trancelike quality and she almost thought that he had started talking to himself. Or was it all for her benefit? Part of her wondered if Crane ever knew at this point.

Mildred had retreated to the corner of the room. He was curled up in the fetal position, sobbing and screaming as his entire body trembled. Crane leapt off of the table and moved in his direction, which sent Mildred into another fit of wild, primitive episodes. Crane knelt down beside him, his head tilted to one side as he studied the other man, the normally totally logical, sane man's reactions.

"So, tell me, Stanly," he said, "Why did you decide to spy on Heather and myself?"

He was the spy? Heather thought to herself. No, no, that didn't make sense! He was always so nice. Sweet, even. It was difficult for her to pin him down a man that was into voyeurism. She took a few steps to him, hoping that her presence might reassure him a little; maybe even offer some comfort.

Quite the opposite, Mildred saw her coming and threw his body against the wall away from her. Heather stopped short. Why was he afraid of her? What had Crane drugged him with? Images came in flashes through her mind. It was a like the damn burst, and the floodgates lifted. The walls. The chair. The powder. Hacking. Coughing. Unable to take a breath. Dr. Crane. No. Evil. Coming toward her. Breathing down on her. Invading her space. She had thought it was a dream; convinced herself it was a dream. They had told her that she was sick. That she had been hallucinating. It was all because of a fever. She looked now a Crane as he hovered over Dr. Mildred, still seeing him standing over her as she had sat there in the floor. She had thought he was the devil.

"I didn't do it!" Mildred cried.

"Don't lie to me, Stanly!" Crane bellowed.

"I'm not!" Mildred sobbed, "Oh, God!"

Heather ran over to the two men and shoved Crane away from Mildred by the shoulders. The force of the blow knocked him off balance and he landed on his backside. He looked up at Heather, though she couldn't see his expression, she was betting it wasn't a happy one.

"Leave him alone." She said, her voice calm and even.

"No." Crane said, lifting himself to his feet.

"What are you trying to get from this?"

"His confession."

"Look at him." Heather said, pointing to the still cowering doctor, "He is terrified. Don't you think that if he had anything to confess, he would have done it by now?"

"Apparently not." Crane snapped.

Mildred had once again taken to the fetal position, covering his face with his chubby little arms. He shuttered from the tears falling down his face and he kept repeating the phrase, "I didn't do it. I didn't do it. I didn't do it…"

Heather narrowed her eyes at Dr. Crane, since they were the only part of her face that was visible above the mask. She wanted to be able to see his face. She wanted to look him in the eye as she asked her next question, but at this point, she would take what she could get.

"When did you do that to me?" she asked, indicating the dust like substance he had thrown into Mildred's face.

She watched as Crane physically squared his shoulders. Damn it, she wanted to look at him right now. He clasped his hands behind his back and set his feet at shoulder width apart. Assuming his diplomatic stance, Heather thought.

"The day before yesterday." Crane answered.

"That long ago?"

"Well, you spent one full day sleeping off the antidote." He said snidely as he took a step toward her.

Heather countered, taking one step back. She wasn't exactly sure about what was going on, but something in her stomach was telling her to keep as much distance between them as she could. Funny. An hour ago, all she wanted was to be as close to him as physically possible. She needed to see him. She needed to look into his face; needed to read what was going on behind his eyes.

"Why did you do that to me?" she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

"Because I needed something from you that you weren't willing to give." He said. He kept trying to get closer to her, but she kept one step ahead of him.

"What?" she asked.

His head tilted to this side again as he regarded her. It was in that same studious nature with which he had stared at Dr. Mildred a few moments ago. Only this time, he was looking at her. The room all of the sudden felt very small and stuffy and Heather was finding the simple act of swallowing to be a challenge.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked.

No, Heather thought.

"Yes." She said.

It was then that, with speed she had never seen before, Crane lunged for her. Her caught her by the shoulders and slammed her bodily against the wall, using his body to hold her there. Heather squirmed against him, pushing at his ribcage with her hands, trying to get him off of her. He seemed to have become inhumanly strong all at once and she couldn't fight him off. She twisted and struggled, but he refused to relinquish his grasp on her. She turned her face away from him, not wanting to look at that mask as images of it were streaming all too steadily through her memory now. The maggots. The worms. The rotting pieces of flesh. All of it have been coming out of that mask and staring at it now would only make her think of that.

Crane took hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. His fingers bit into her face and it hurt. He was hurting her. He had hurt her before. She had known better that to completely trust him, but even she hadn't thought him to be capable of something like this. How long had he been doing it? If he could do this without remorse, she found herself wondering exactly what else he might be capable of. That was the moment she felt something churning in the pit of her stomach. Something that she had not felt in a very long time.

**(Crane's Perspective)**

Crane felt every sense in his body heighten when he forced her to turn her face to him. There was something there in Heather's eyes that made his blood turn to fire and rush through his veins faster than it ever had in his entire life. As he held her face in his hand, he acknowledged the way his pulse had quickened with a sinister smile that went unseen by Heather. But, he saw her. He saw it and it was sweeter and more exciting than he ever could have dreamed. He hadn't expected the arousal that had come with it, but that could easily be dealt with. Hell, he would enjoy dealing with it. There. Right there lurking in those widened, pretty eyes of hers…

Fear.

**Author's Note: **I know I switched perspectives in this chapter and I usually try to avoid doing that…but in this case, it seemed kind of unavoidable. Oh well. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Crane

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay, but here's the next chapter. Thanks once again to all of my lovely reviewers! I can't say that enough, but, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you soooooo much! Okay, I'll stop gushing and let you read, now.

**Chapter Thirteen: Crane **

Panting, Jonathan released his hold on Heather's face and then tangled the same hand into the hair at the back of her head. With his other hand, he grabbed the gas mask that covered her lovely face, hidingher from his view, and ripped it off. She let out a small cry of pain and tried again to push him away from her. He could feel his smile growing wider with every movement that she made; he was enjoying this.

Now, he could see her face. Her full, pretty lips trembled as one tear slipped from her eye and down her cheek. He slipped a little further over the edge. The one hand remaining in her hair, he grabbed her by the neck with the other and jerked her away from the wall.

Leaving Dr. Mildred writhing on the floor still screaming and crying in terror, Jonathan pulled Heather out of the room and into the hallway. She stumbled and fell to her knees, but when she tried to stand back up, Jonathan kicked her foot back down. He then began to drag her down the hall by the hair, reminiscent to the way a caveman might. The comparison made him chuckle. Heather keptattempting to get her feet under her, but any time she tried, one good hard tug on her hair caused her to lose her footing and go right back to being dragged across the cold stone floor. Not to mention, every time she made even the tiniest sound of pain or fear, it sent fresh waves of adrenaline crashing over him. He wanted to drown in her fear; drink it in and let it envelope him.

Heather's hands grasped his wrist, her fingernails digging into his skin. She was either trying to ease some of the pain being caused by himmercilessly pullingher by her hair bylifting herselfup on his wrist toalleviate some of the pressureor she was trying to inflict enough pain to get him to release her; or both. He was betting on both. It was the type of person that she was.

It was harder dragging her up the stairs to his office; but he enjoyed the challenge. She managed to reach up and catch him by the ankle, causing him to trip and fall forward. Thus, he lost his grip on her hair. She leapt up and started down the stairs. Jonathan got to his feet and quickly caught her around the waist. He spun her around and slammed her down face first on the stairs. She caught the stair above her with her fingers and tried to pull herself out from under him, but he tightened one arm's hold on her stomach and returned the other one to her hair.

"No!" Heather cried, her hand flying back to blindly grope athis.

Jonathan leaned down so that his mouth, or more accurately, the mouth of his mask was right beside her ear, "Yes."

He climbed to his feet and went back to hauling Heather up the stairs. Once he reached the top, he pulled her to her feet and shoved her into the office. He shoved her so hard that she stumbled and flailed several steps until she finally fell into one of the bookcases, taking several books to a pile in the floor along with her. She groaned and rubbed a hand over the back of her head before getting to her knees and using the bookcase to help lift her to her feet.

While she was getting herself up, Jonathan shut and locked his door before tucking the key into the inner pocket of his jacket with his glasses. Heather had turned to look at him, still leaning against the bookcase. She glared at him. Trying to put on a strong front, he thought; but he could still see terror running through those pretty eyes. He countered over to his desk, shrugging out of his suit jacket and jerking loose the knot of his tie. He then began to roll his sleeves up to his forearms.

"What was it that you said?" he asked, "Less stuffy?"

Heather responded with a weak nod.

"Good." He laughed, "Now, what should we talk about in our session today?"

Heather took the opportunity of his distance to make a break for the door. Jonathan watched in amusement as she tugged on the doorknob several times before finally realizing that it was useless and giving up. She turned to face him once again, her chin quivering and tears sliding down her cheeks. He came back around the front of his desk and moved toward her. For every step in her direction that he took, Heather took one back. She kept moving away from him until her back hit the wall and she had nowhere else to go. When he was three steps away from her,she ducked around him and rushed to the center of the office.

Jonathan reached out and caught her by the elbow to stop her. He stepped up right behind her, barely a centimeter between the two of them. Her entire body trembled as she tried to stand perfectly still; tried not to move a muscle as though any sudden movement would cause her predator to attack. Predator, Jonathan thought to himself with a smile, that was a fun way to look at it. That made her his prey. He leaned in closer, pressing himself to her back and tilting his head forward.

"Don't you see, Heather?" he said, stroking a hand over the back of her hair in mock affection as he rubbed the rough material of the mask against her smooth cheek, "This is what I wanted from you; what I needed."

He ran his fingers down her arm before slipping his hand up under the material of her shirt andto run itacross the bare skin of her stomach. He felt her twitch under his touch. Her breathing was labored and panicked. She was trying not to cry, but her body was giving her away. He dropped his hand from her hair to the middle of her back and gaveher a harsh shove away from him. The front of her hips hit the desk and her forward momentum doubled her over at the waist, so her upper body slammed into the surface of the desk.

She pushed herself back up and moved around to the other side of the desk. Soon she was tucked behind his heavy leather chair as he mirrored her stance at the front of his desk. She was clutching at the sides of his chair so hard that her knuckles and the tips of her fingers had started to turn white.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, barely choking the words out.

Jonathan leaned forward, bracing both hands on the desk, "Let me show you."

He went to move around the desk and Heather darted out from behind the chair to run from him. In the blink of an eye, Jonathan changed direction. He caught her by the waist, lifted her off of her feet, and then slammed her back down hard on top of his desk. She screamed and squirmed against his hold on her, knocking the items of his desk to the floor. Jonathan jumped onto the desk with her, straddling her hips and taking hold of the sides of her face, his elbows pressing down hard into her shoulders to restrain her struggling.

"Let me go." She pleaded quietly, "Please, let me go, Dr. Crane."

"No, no, no…" Jonathan shushed, pressing her index finger to her lips before he introduced himself, "Scarecrow."

The name sent a fresh rush of fear through her eyes, which in turn sent him another wave of euphoria. Then, she closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. His entire body tensed up. He caught her chin in a firm grasp and jerked her face back around toward his.

"Look at me, Heather." He demanded.

She shook her head.

"I said, look at me." he repeated.

"No." Heather said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Open your damn eyes!"

She opened her eyes, but kept them facing downward and away from him. That was fine, though. He could still see them. Thetension eased; control returned.He leaned down, pressing more of his body against hers. He stroked his hand down her face to the tender skin of her neck. As he did this, her eyes came back up to look at the face of his mask. He watched her eyes narrow and her jaw clench as she quickly reached up and tore the mask off of his head before throwing it across the office. Jonathan glared down at her, but whatever she saw in his eyes must have been even scarier than the mask because the brave stare she had been giving him melted into another look of wide eyed terror as a scream curdled up out of her throat.

She twisted her body beneath his weight, her hands searching around her sides for anything that she could use as a weapon. Sadly, everything had been knocked off of the desk during their struggling.

Jonathan took hold of her chin again, running his thumb along her bottom lip, he leaned his face even closer to her. He pressed his mouth the side of her ear, his lips brushing against it with every word.

"I could show you, Heather." He breathed, relishing the feel of her skin against his face. He may just like this more than he liked the power that the mask gave to him."You're just like me, can't you see that? I knew it when I first laid eyes on you."

"No, I'm not." Heather spat.

"Yes, you are." He said, his lips curling upward, "Let me show you what it's like. How intoxicating it can be…"

"What can be?" she asked on a shaky breath.

Her body stilled as she stopped fighting him. This caught Jonathan slightly off guard. She was either intrigued, or looking for a way to trick him. He leaned back so that he could look down at her face. Her green eyes sparkled up at him questioningly; still afraid, but curious as well.

The corner of his mouth twitched, "Fear."

"Fear?" Heather asked, "That's what this is all about?"

Jonathan leaned closer to her, burying his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, "It's amazing, really. The power. The inability of the mind to rationalize. Knowing that you have that kind of control over someone…" his hand slid down to her hip and he straightened his legs slightly, getting his lower body tighter against her, "it can even be a kind of aphrodisiac."

"Fear?" she repeated.

"Yes." Jonathan said, opening his mouth and tracing her neck with is tongue.

Heather tilted her head to the side to give him better access to her throat as his hand slid up under her shirt again. "All this time, you've been trying to scare me?"

"Yes." He said into her skin, "but you don't scare easily. We're so similar, Heather. There's so much that we could do together."

"You think we're that similar?"

"I do."

"So," she said, licking her lips as she slid her hand up over his shoulder and into his hair, turning her face so that her lips were directly beside his ear as he had done with her, "what scares you, Doc?"

He stopped what he was doing and pushed himself away from her so that he could see her face once again. Why had she asked him that? The question unnerved him.

"What?" he said.

"I wanna know," Heather said, her eyes narrowing and body trembling as she spoke the end of her sentence through clenched teeth, "what scares you."

Jonathan stared down at her, noticing her change. The change of the set of her jaw, the change in her expression, but most of all the change in her eyes. He then watched as Heather's nose scrunched up in effort as she jerked the hair at the back of his head to the side as hard as she could. Jonathan howled as the force of her assault caused him to topple from the desk to the floor; hence, off of her.

Heather sat up as soon as she was free of his weight. She slid off of the desk to her feet. He heard the sound of one of his desk drawers opening just as he was getting to his knees. Heather dug through the drawer in search of something. Jonathan got to his feet and sneered at her as he rubbed his hand over the back of his head. Heather froze, deer in the headlights expression firmly on her face.

"That wasn't very nice, Heather." He said.

"Turnabout's fair play, doc." She replied.

"So they say."

He noticed that her wrist was moving, just barely. She was still searching through is drawer.

"You shouldn't go through other people's things, Heather." He said, "It isn't polite."

"Well, you know I never claimed to be a lady."

"No, you didn't." He squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, "What, may I ask, are you looking for?"

"That razor you never got for me." She replied, "I cling to the secret hope that you caved and bought one."

"Ah." He said as he popped his neck to the side. She wasn't as scared now. The fear was still there, but it had lessened. She was fighting it off; forcing it back down inside where it wouldn't be able to do any damage. Then, he saw those pretty green eyes of hers widen for less than a split second before instantly returning to normal. He also observed that her hand had stopped moving. She had found something.

Slowly, she pulled her hand out of the drawer, bringing with it a long sharp letter opener. She dropped her hand, which now held her weapon down to her side and smirked at him. He raised his gaze from her hand up to her face. She was the first one to move this time, sidestepping her way around the desk without taking her eyes off of him. Jonathan turned his body to keep facing her, but other than that he didn't move. Not an inch. He didn't even twitch.

"So, doc," Heather said, her eyes darting back and forth between him and the door, "can I borrow your keys?"

"What kind of doctor would I be if I went around handing out my keys to all of my patients?" he replied, matching her smirk with one of his own.

"Uh, the kind that's crazy." She answered, "So, from what I'm seeing, it shouldn't be too far of a stretch for you, so, would you please hand over the key?"

Jonathan's smirk turned into a full fledged smile. Her voice was giving her away. It was trembling; there was an underlying desperation to it. She was still scared, nervous, even a little bit anxious. Brilliant.

He took a step forward and just like that, her arm shot up from her side, pointing the tip of the letter opener at his chest. "Stay there." She said.

Her hand was shaking.

Jonathan spread his hands out wide, offering her his surrender. "Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you, Heather?"

Heather laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I have no idea what you're gonna do, Doc. I think you've lost your fucking marbles!"

Jonathan clucked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head. "Such language."

All of the sudden, he lunged toward her, knocked the letter opener out of her hand and pulled her to him. She pushed against his chest with her forearms trying to get some space between their bodies, but he kept his arms wrapped tightly around her. It was coming back to her now; leaking into her eyes like water. He grabbed her by the back of her head and pressed his lips fiercely against hers. She pulled her head back, tried to crane her neck to get away from him but his hand held her in place. When she couldn't get away, she screamed into his mouth.

He broke the macabre kiss and smiled when he saw her crying. Then, he spun her around and pushed her down onto the sofa on her back, once again using the weight of his body to hold her down.

"So, Heather," he whispered against her cheek, "as a concerned doctor, I need to ask you, on a scale of one to ten…how scared were you when your brother raped you?"

**Author's Note: **Well, we're nearing the end of our tale. Just one chapter and the epilogue to go. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Don't forget to review! Your feedback is greedily craved and greatly appreciated!


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Heather

**Author's Note: **I know it's been a while, but here's the last actual chapter. After this, there's only the epilogue left to go. I want to say thank you again for all of the reviews! Don't forget to keep 'em coming and let me know what you think of this chapter as well! Anyways, on to the story!

**Chapter Fourteen: Heather**

All those years of being unafraid; of choking back the fear; suppressing it; burying it somewhere deep inside of her so that she even forgot what the feeling felt like; all of that was over in that moment. It was as though every ounce of fear that she had ignored, from the slightest shiver when you turn out the lights to the dread you feel in your gut when you hear footsteps behind you in an empty parking lot, all of that came flooding to the surface with Crane's whispered words. It overcame her and the only thing she could do to acknowledge the feeling was scream. She screamed and screamed and screamed. She screamed until her throat hurt from it.

Crane held her hands pinned against the cushions of the sofa, high, on either side of her head. He was breathing hard, as though he had been the one that had just been screaming. He nuzzled his face into her neck and Heather felt his mouth press a kiss against her collarbone. Then, he tilted his face so that his mouth was beside her ear. The feel of his warm breath made her shiver.

"Do it again, Heather." He whispered, his lips tickling her earlobe, "Give me another scream."

He pushed his hips in tighter against hers so that she could feel his excitement. He raised his upper body and moved her hands up higher above her head until he could push them together and clasp both of her wrists in one hand. Heather tried to jerk away from his hold during the transition, but he was too quick and caught her. His free hand slid down her side to her stomach, the tips of his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her scrubs; then his hand traveled lower still.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried to twist her body away from him, but his weight pinned her in place. "Stop it." She hissed.

"Can't you see how alike we are?" he breathed against her skin.

"I am _nothing _like you!" she spat just before she twisted her body and brought her knee up as hard as she could into his ribcage.

With a grunt, Crane released Heather's hands and grasped his side. She brought her hands up to the side of his face and shoved him off of her. He rolled onto the floor with a thud as Heather scrambled up and leapt over him. Crane reached up and caught her by the ankle, bringing her down to the floor along with him. She twisted and kicked at him, but Crane clamped his big hand down on her knee to still her leg as he worked his way up her body. She clawed at the floor behind her in attempt to pry herself away from him, but she just wasn't strong enough. He straddled her thighs and cupped the sides of her face with his hands.

"Heather," he said, his eyes burning with fierce intensity into her own, "once you understand the beauty…the power…the elation that you can find behind another human being's fear, I swear to you, you'll see how all this arguing and fighting with me is just unnecessary."

Heather felt fresh warm tears slipping from her eyes as she blindly groped her hands over the floor. She shook her head as best she could in his grip and squeezed her eyelids closed. "No." she said, trying to make her voice sound strong but it came out cracked and broken.

"Yes." Crane stated matter-o-factly, a smile crossing his lips that could only be described as sinister.

"I don't want to be like you." Heather said, struggling against herself to choke back the sobs that were fighting to burst free from her throat.

"It's okay to be afraid, Heather," Crane cooed in a type of false sincerity, stroking the pad of his thumb across her jaw line, "I don't mind."

"You disgust me!" she snarled.

"No, I don't." he chuckled, his fingertips brushing against her temple, "You want me to disgust you. But deep down, you know that's just not true."

Heather's chin quivered as she looked up at him. His smile widened as he leaned down and pressed his lips forcefully against hers. She pressed her lips together as tightly as she could, denying him access to her mouth; clinging to whatever tiny bit of control she was able to keep over the situation. Her fingertips brushed against something, which she then grabbed hold of. Crane drew back from her, looking down with a smug, self satisfied expression covering his features. Heather felt her own mouth twist into a smile as she swung the heavy gold paperweight with all her might so that it connected solidly with his temple.

Crane's body went instantly limp and he collapsed unconscious on top of her. Despite being trapped beneath his dead weight, Heather let out a sigh of relief and she felt her body relax. With a groan of effort, she managed to roll Crane off of her and climb to her feet. She staggered to the door and jerked on the doorknob, when it didn't budge, she remembered with a jolt that it was locked. Her eyes landed on Crane.

She rushed back over to him and dropped to her knees by his side. With only a slight hesitation, she dug her hands into the pockets of his slacks in search of the key and came up with nothing. She grabbed him by the shirt collar and screamed out her frustration through clenched teeth in his face.

"Where is it, you bastard!"

Her eyes fell onto the suit jacket that was draped over the back of his desk chair and she scrambled up and around the desk to reach it. She went for the inner pocket first, thinking that she had seen him shove things into it more than once. When she pulled her hand out the first time, she held his eyeglasses. She dropped them on the top of the desk and then dug her hand into it again, coming out with the lone door key. A smile split her lips but a moan from the stirring psychiatrist on the floor across the room melted it right back off. She didn't have time to celebrate, yet. She ran back around to the front of the desk, pausing just long enough to snatch the letter opener from the ground, and rushed to the door. Adrenaline was coursing so rapidly through her veins, her hands shook almost uncontrollably as she tried to get the key in the lock and turn it. And after that, it took her another minute to actually turn the doorknob. She heard another moan and looked over her shoulder to see Crane stir. His head moved a little to the side signaling that he wouldn't be long before he woke up. She pulled the door open and slipped through it, pulling shut behind her. With a nervous glance down the stairs, she locked the office door from the outside, then with the key still in the lock, she hit her palm against it and snapped half the key off still inside. If nothing else, the jammed lock would delay him and buy her a little more time.

With that taken care of, she turned and raced down the steep stairway taking two stairs at a time. She slowed her pace just barely when she reached the bottom, pausing just long enough to peek around the corner before launching herself into another sprint. She was getting out of this damned place tonight if it killed her. All she had to do was find her way to the front door. Oh! And slip past the guard and/or orderly who posted there. Piece of proverbial cake. Really.

She rounded a corner when an arm shot out and more or less clotheslined her at the midsection. Her feet flew out into the air in front of her and her back landed hard on the cold cement floor. The blow to her stomach followed almost immediately by the impact on her back knocked the wind out of her and she lay writhing on the floor, coughing and choking and gasping as she tried to regain her breath. She had lost her grip on the letter opener when she had hit the ground and as soon as she felt the slightest bit of oxygen passing into her lungs, she reached her hand over toward it. But, before her fingertips even brushed the handle, two large hands grasped her upper arms and jerked her to her feet.

"Hello, darlin'." Hal sneered just before he slammed her bodily into the wall.

Heather grunted when she hit the wall, letting out another cough but managed a cheeky grin, "Hey yourself, big guy."

"Going somewhere?" he growled.

"Just thought I'd take a late night stroll." She said, once again finding the strength to push her fear aside, "Why? You got something else in mind?"

Hal released one of her arms and groped at her breast as he pressed his lower body into hers. "How about a little fun?" he said huskily.

She could feel his breath in her face; it was hot and damp and stank of cheap cigarettes and diet coke. She didn't squirm against him because in her experience, that only served to excite a man more. Instead, she set her face into a scowl, "No offense, or you can take offense, either way I really don't care, but…I think our definitions of fun are just the tiniest bit different."

Hal laughed a deep, hearty laugh before leaning forward and dragging his oversized tongue over her neck, leaving a trail of saliva on her skin. He let go of grip on her other arm so that he now had both hands free to roam and grope at her body. Heather pushed at his wide shoulders, trying to pry herself free of him, but he continued to lick and nip at her collarbone as his fingers clutched at her breasts, her hips, her buttocks and thighs. What was with everybody in this place? Were they all so sex starved? Had it really been that long since they had seen a woman?

A new rush of anger coursed through her and she brought up her legs and slammed the heel of her foot down on his kneecap. Hal howled and back two steps away from her. His eyes narrowed angrily as he looked at her then backhanded her across the face. He head snapped to the side and she went down to her knees on the floor. One hand clutched to her cheek, she tried to scramble away from him on her other three limbs. But, Hal caught her by the arm once again and jerked her up. He was in such a rage that he didn't even hear the scrape of metal against concrete.

He pinned her to the wall by her throat, his cruel eyes boring into hers; he leaned so close that their noses were pressed together. Heather pushed against the underside of his chin with one hand in attempt to put some distance between them, but just as pretty much every other attempt she had made, it failed.

"Come on, Heather," he spat, "I just want a little of what you've been giving our good doctor."

It was him! The thought blasted its way to the forefront of her mind. He had been the one watching them on the monitors! She felt her eyes narrow and any remnants of fear that she might have had melted away in that instant.

"You want some of what I gave to Dr. Crane?" she said, her voice dripping with honey, "Okay, then."

With that, she brought up her hand and stabbed the long metal letter opened into the base of his neck where it met with the shoulder. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack as a sickening gurgling sound poured from his open mouth. She pulled the weapon from his flesh, not even cringing against the slurping sound that came with it. Hal relinquished his hold on her and staggered back, his hand at his shoulder. Heather took a step toward him and fell back away from her.

He scooted backwards, using one hand to drag himself with the other still clamped firmly over his wound. He stared up at her, his eyes wide and fearful; his face drawn into what could only be described as panic. Heather took another step toward, a strange warm calm feeling flooding through her entire body as she looked down at him. He looked terrified of her and she felt a small smile spread over her lips.

Then, the smile vanished and she looked down at herself. She was clutching the letter opener so hard that her knuckles had turned white. The blade of the opener was covered in blood, as was her wrist and fingers. The front of her shirt and pants were also blood splattered from what she could only assume was arterial spray. She stumbled back a few steps as her goal reentered her mind…and her goal was not to start hacking into Hal the orderly. She spun around on the ball of her foot and took off running once again.

It took her five more minutes to find her way to the front lobby of the asylum. She crouched against the corner of the wall and peeked around it. There was an overweight security guard sitting behind a desk slurping away at coffee from a Styrofoam cup. How exactly was she going to con him into buzzing open those heavy double doors? Her gaze fell on a large cylindrical metal ashtray and hastily glued together plan worked itself out in her head.

She darted across the lobby and plastered herself against the far wall, just barely out of the security guard's line of sight. She slid along the wall on her toes, trying to move as quietly as was humanly possible. All in one motion, she wrapped her hands around the tall ashtray and came out in front of the desk. The guard barely had the time to look up from the doughnut he was eating before Heather swung the makeshift weapon, connecting solidly with the side of his head and knocking him out of his chair and into the floor. She threw the ashtray aside and hopped onto the top of the desk; she began pushing buttons on the control panel until she heard a loud buzzing sound. It was amazing how comforting that buzzing was.

She scrambled off of the top of the desk and rushed for the door; as soon as the opening was wide enough, she slipped through it into the night. Large raindrops were coming down hard and only a slight slant; so hard that there was about two inches of standing water on the ground. She ran across the top lot of the Arkham, water splashing up onto her legs with every step she took. Rain was beating into her face and she was soon soaked all the way through. She didn't mind. There was something about the rain that was oddly cleansing to her.

Halfway down the driveway, she drew to a halt. It was almost as though her feet refused to move anymore. In her mind's eye, she kept flashing back to an image of Hal trying to crawl away from her on the floor. The fear in his eyes; the terror etched so deeply across his face. The way she had felt looking at him.

She had felt warm and calm and strangely excited…almost…euphoric. There had been a tingling in her lips and toes as she had advanced on him; as she had watched his eyes begging her to just leave him alone. It was only as she reflected on that, standing there in the middle of a downpour, that she realized the truth.

She fell to her knees, painful choking sobs erupting from her throat. Crane had been right! He had been tell her the truth the entire time! There was something twisted inside of her. Something that had been broken a long time ago and was only now showing its defect. But she was stronger than some damn broken toy, wasn't she? She pushed herself back up to her feet and wiped her hand at the tears on her cheeks, more of a symbolic gesture than anything because the rain made it impossible to wipe her face dry. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and took another step forward. But she could not stop herself from casting another long glance over her shoulder at the famed Arkham Asylum, or the thought that entered her mind at the sight of it towering over her in the distance.

**Author's Note: **Almost done!


End file.
